


Null and Void

by BetanSurvey (Scedasticity)



Series: Elite [2]
Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M, I have not fixed the formatting from when i wrote it in 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25773616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scedasticity/pseuds/BetanSurvey
Summary: For completeness's sake: The sequel to Golden Apples.
Relationships: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Series: Elite [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/32547
Kudos: 3





	Null and Void

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not BAD. But I had _Ambitions_ for this story, and I did not meet them, and it dragged and dragged and dragged, and I wandered away from the fandom for like two years without a whisper, then came back and felt obligated to finish it before starting another WIP, so I bit the bullet and buckled down and finished the stupid thing and got in the parasite joke I'd been planning from the start and there. Done.
> 
> This story is not that great and I'm (still) too sick of it to try to fix it.
> 
> But for completeness's sake: Null and Void

Title: Null and Void  
Author: BetanSurvey  
Rating: PG-13  
Category: AU, Action/Adventure  
Spoilers: anything before Fractures is fair game -- and just a little from later is sneaking in

In this story, I am using *this* to denote emphasis, //this// to denote thought, and >>this<< to denote... well, you'll see. ;-)

The Voyage of the ~Sharp Stick~  
by BetanSurvey

~~prologue~~

"You named it what?" Aeryn quickly held up a hand to forestall any reply. "No. Never mind. I don't think I want to know anything more about it."

John shook his head, suppressing a smile at her expression, and leaned back against the wall of the narrow storage/maintenance compartment. The compartment was small for two; the maintenance crawlspace they were looking at was almost impossible, which was why they were out in the compartment waiting for a report, and Chiana and Jool were somewhere else entirely, in the main compartment sorting through the packs they'd carried with them from Bastarrex. "It's a joke, Aeryn. You know, the Elite call their ships Daggers, Spears, Javelins, Arrows -- this isn't really a fighting ship, but it is armed, and Elite, sort of, so--"

"The ~Sharp Stick~. I got it, John. I just think you're insane."

"Thought that was already established?"

That got a smile -- it was so good to see Aeryn smiling again. "Yes, of course, but now you're taking the rest of us with you."

There was a loud clatter from the crawlspace, and a muffled "Frell!" followed by a string of words the translator microbes didn't catch, trailing off into indistinct muttering. Both John and Aeryn looked down at the access.

"Tacer?" John asked. "You okay?"

"Fine! Just-- Oh, *yuck*! What a *mess*!"

Given that Tacer had gone down into the maintenance crawlspace in the first place because he 'thought he heard a funny noise', that wasn't very reassuring. Exchanging a glance with Aeryn, John bent down to look through the access into the crawlspace. "Just what's down there, Tace?"

"What? Oh... uh... that last one wasn't about the drive, don't worry..."

"Are there many drives that *would* make someone say 'yuck'?" John asked Aeryn, quietly.

"That would make *me* say 'yuck'? No. Tacer? I have no idea."

"Good point."

"The synthesizer," Tacer called. "It's the raw materials storage for the food synthesizer. Someone really should have cleaned it out a *long* time ago." There was some more clatters and shuffling noises, and Tacer emerged, feet first, from the crawlspace. John and Aeryn both backed into the shelving. "All right, I looked at the drive -- I'm not a tech, but I know the basics. There's, um, good news and bad news." He scrambled to his feet. "Good news is, most of the drive, the Maker parts we don't understand anymore, is in working order and'll keep going for cycles and cycles. Bad news, some of the... not sure how to describe it... auxiliary parts of the drive... that's not it... cooling system!" He smiled, satisfied. "Yeah, that'll work. The fluid for the cooling system's almost all dried up, so we're running at real low power to keep from overheating. We can get more coolant at any Elite base."

John held up a hand. "Except, as I remember, we're tryin' to stay *out* of Elite space, given that you disobeyed several major orders, ran off with some prisoners, and in general are probably in deep dren if you show your face."

"Well, yes, at least for the next few cycles... but there are Elite *bases*, of sorts, outside of Elite *space*. Mostly planets that were in Maker space, but got cut off when we contracted our territory after the revolt." He tilted his head. "I'll need to check the computer for the closest one."

Aeryn spoke, crossing her arms. "What precisely constitutes an Elite base outside Elite space?"

Tacer shrugged. "Not a full division, of course. Usually no creches, or no official ones, anyway. Just a small base, a few units, some equipment."

"Where do they come from in the first place?" John asked. "I got the impression you people tried to avoid contact except on your terms."

Tacer shrugged again. "Well, yes... Like I said, most of the planets *were* in Maker -- Ashkren -- space, they *had* full garrisons before the revolt. We knew we couldn't hold the whole territory and contracted, and some of the bases got sort of cut off. And some people stayed. There are even a few Ashkren on some of the planets."

John nodded slowly. "And you're sure this won't be a problem."

"Shouldn't be."

"What about the Elite intelligence network?" Aeryn asked. "Would you be able to access it at all? Get any information on Moya?"

That. That, John knew, was a sore point. Their chances of finding their shipmates, and ship, by wandering blindly around the Uncharted Territories and Elite Fringe were vanishingly small. None of them were satisfied with that, but Aeryn seemed the most worried. John thought she felt guilty about following the runaway Marauder carrying John, Chiana, and Jool into Elite space and therefore leaving Moya and Pilot with only Rygel, hopefully D'Argo, and possibly Talyn and Crais to look after them. It was illogical, and Aeryn probably knew it was illogical, which would be the reason she hadn't mentioned it.

Tacer frowned. "Maybe. Maybe I could access it, maybe it would have information on your Leviathan. Outside Elite space, our intelligence network is relatively thin, you know." Tacer looked down at his grimy, rumpled fatigues. "Huh. I'm going to go change, all right?"

"Go ahead," John replied. After Tacer had disappeared into the main compartment provoking noises of disgust from Jool, he turned to Aeryn. "We'll find them, Aeryn. We will."

She sighed, not looking reassured. "I hope so."

~*~*~*~

~BOOK ONE~

~null and void~

(The other day upon the stair  
(I met a man who wasn't there  
(He wasn't there again today  
(I wish, I wish he'd stay away!  
( Hughes Mearns)

~i~

They had chosen Asfod'l from the list of possible destinations because, according to Tacer, it was the least likely to have any Peacekeepers, Scarrans, Nebari, or representatives of any other major powers. John was beginning to see why. If he weren't a desperate fugitive, he'd probably be avoiding Asfod'l, too. As a scientist, and as someone who'd grown up with ~Star Wars~, he was fascinated by the idea of an inhabited moon of a gas giant. Sitting on a crate in the cockpit faced with the reality, however...

"I have a very bad feeling about this," he said aloud.

Aeryn and Tacer, occupying the copilot's and pilot's seats, respectively -- the only seats native to the cockpit -- both turned to look at him. "John?" Aeryn asked.

He shook his head. "I just, I don't know, don't like the look of this place." He gestured out the forward viewers, hoping Tacer, at least, would return his attention there as well. //Eyes on the road, Tace...// "It's so... dark."

"We're in Tynar's shadow, John," Aeryn replied reasonably, indicating the looming blue-gray gas giant, the rings of which they were currently navigating. "Of course it's dark." Of course, she didn't look thrilled, either.

"That's not exactly what I meant, but... yeah." John shook his head, inwardly sighing with relief when both of them turned back to piloting. Aeryn was getting really good with the ~Sharp Stick~, and John at least had the basics down, but the controls were complicated enough that Tacer was still the only one completely confidant with them. Whether this confidence was justified was another story, but as it was, Tacer was taking any tricky flying, such as this slow glide along Tynar's rings. In addition to Asfod'l and the rings, Tynar had several other satellites of various sizes and compositions. "The tides here must be insane."

"Tides...? Just a microt..." Tacer paused, assuming the look John was coming to recognize as 'Tacer and translator microbes versus limits of original Elite language'. As usual, Tacer won. "Yes... they would be, I guess. I've never been here, and I haven't heard much about the landscape."

"Over there--" Aeryn pointed. "Those... small moons, asteroids, whatever they are -- they look gutted. Was there mining?"

Tacer nodded. "Yes. Original reason Ashkren came here in the first place, I think. But the ore ran out cycles before the revolt, even. There's not much in this system besides Asfod'l -- look, there it is." He pointed.

Asfod'l was in fact just out of the massive planetary shadow, but it still looked shadowed. //Very opaque atmosphere,// John noted. //Must be kinda dark down there. Looks a lot like Venus. Wonder how much of a greenhouse effect they have going on?//

Frowning at the sensors, Tacer adjusted a few controls. "There should be an Elite beacon so I can figure out where the frell to land..."

The door of the cockpit -- or 'control compartment,' if you wanted to follow fussy Ashkren nomenclature -- opened. "Are we there yet?" Chiana asked.

"Not quite," John said. "Why so impatient, Pip?"

She rolled her eyes. "Should I make a list, Crichton? As nice as this ship is, it's still too small to be stuck in for an long time with four other people. Plus, I'm sick of Elite rations. Plus, I'm sick of Elite uniforms. There will be somewhere to shop, right?"

Tacer laughed. "Supposed to be, Chiana. Not a lot, but some." He leaned forward over the controls. "Ah! There it is. Elite base. That is an *old* beacon signature..."

The voice that abruptly played over the comms was distorted and crackly with interference. "...approaching the m-- ....... --fod'l, Ashkren sci-- ....... -under control of El-- ....... --xtraterritorial Division. Th-- ....... --s unclaimed. Be alerted ....... --terdict by Ashkren General Order Five-- ....... --count of ....... --cal hazards ....... no longer enforced, bu-- ....... advised to tak-- ....... --recautions. For ....... contact the science b-- ....... are approaching...."

Tacer muted it. "Think that's the whole thing. That must have been made right after the revolt."

"Uh, Tacer..." John ventured, "I couldn't hear a lot of that, but some of it sounded like *interdict* and *hazards* and *precautions*. Should we be concerned?"

"Exactly," Aeryn agreed. "And I think I heard *biological*."

Frowning, Tacer leaned back. "Well, I'm not sure. The interdict isn't in effect anymore. And people *do* come here -- there's a regular spaceport beacon over that way, a little newer than this one. Look, it says to contact the science base for more information. When we get through some of this interference I'll do that. But I don't think it's a problem."

"Hope you're right," John said. "I really don't want to mess with biological hazards."

"Biological hazards?!" And there was Jool, following Chiana into the cockpit. "We're going somewhere with *biological hazards*?"

"We don't know that yet," John replied, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut but grateful he'd grabbed the crate before coming forward. Chiana and Jool would have to stand for however long they wanted to hang around. "Tacer'll be checking in a minute. In a microt. In a bit."

"Here we go," Tacer murmured, and the ~Sharp Stick~ dove down into the dark clouds of Asfod'l.

>>more come<<

John blinked. "What?"

"Sorry?"

"I asked what you said."

Aeryn shook her head. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh, sorry." John looked back out the viewport at the swirling clouds of gray, slate blue, and dark purple. "My mistake."

It seemed to take forever to get clear of the worst of the clouds, and when they finally were able to see actual ground, it was closer than John was expecting. Tacer apparently thought so, too, since he pulled up hard, not quite taking the ship back up into the clouds, but keeping level. "Aeryn, would you mind flying in circles for a while while I contact the base?"

"Not at all."

"Good. I'm transferring control to copilot... now. Careful, it handles a little differently--"

"I know," Aeryn interrupted. "I can do it."

Tacer's eyebrows rose briefly, but he didn't comment. Instead, his hands moved to the comm controls, flickering rapidly. "Elite vessel ~Sharp Stick~ contacting Asfod'l Science Base. Base? Is this the right connection?"

A cool, neutral voice replied. "This is the base, ~Sharp Stick~. Request clarification of identification."

"That's, um, complicated, base. Before we go any further, could you clarify the warning on the orbital beacon?"

"The biological hazard is also 'complicated', ~Sharp Stick~. It is not, however, airborne, if that is your concern. Your signature is unusual. Clarify your identity, please."

Tacer made a face. "Look, our signature is unusual because we sort of *found* this ship. The situation was--"

"Complicated," the voice from the comm said along with him. "No matter--"

Another voice cut across the first one on the comm. "Creche designation."

"Uh, what?" Tacer said. He sounded surprised.

"Your creche designation. What is it."

There was a long pause, during which John, Aeryn, Chiana, and Jool traded worried and/or mystified looks. Tacer took a deep breath before answering. "Rezmarev. And yours is Estaver, isn't it? Kevel?"

"None other," the second voice replied. "It's all right, I know him. Come on down, Tacer, but you have a *lot* of explaining to do."

"I'm sure I do," Tacer sighed. "Look, uh, Kevel, I take it this biological thing isn't a worry for Elite, but if I, um, hypothetically had some non-Elite here, would they be in any danger from the, uh, hazard?"

Silence for a moment. "No, at least not on base," said the second voice -- Kevel. "It really is complicated. But please, land. Maybe you can answer some of the questions we've been mulling over this last monen."

"On my way." Tacer cut the connection. "All right. All right, that's... good. One of my sister's crechemates, so we have a little advantage. Should we go on down?"

>>come<<

Aeryn sighed. "We need the supplies."

"Think that's a 'yes'," John added.

"Right," Tacer said. "Can I get control back...? Thanks. Here goes."

They sailed downwards, towards a dark, mountainous landscape scattered with occasional points of light, one of which grew steadily closer. Soon, he could see the small science base, resting on a bare outcropping of rock among hills cloaked in fir trees and boulders. Strange lights gleamed in the distance.

>>come to us, strangers. come to Asfod'l...<<

# # # # #

Stepping out of the airlock, Aeryn was caught off-guard by Asfod'l's chill. It seemed to immediately go right through the Elite fatigues she wore to leech into her bones. Though it was impossible to see much beyond the pool of illumination cast over the Elite base landing platform by an array of lights on poles, she could smell the ice that had to be there. What else could you expect on a planet -- a moon -- no sunlight ever touched?

John, apparently unaffected by the cold, was watching Tacer speaking with another Elite, the second one wearing the regular Elite uniform of dark blue jacket and pants rather than the lighter field fatigues they'd all picked up during their time in Elite space. As she approached John murmured, "That guy is Kevel Estaver, Tacer's sister's crechemate. I'm not sure if he's in charge of the base or what, but Tacer seems to be tryin' to explain us without actually explainin' us."

"Good. Is there any point in trying to keep Chiana and Jool on the ship?"

"Probably not. I'm hoping we'll get some directions to the major spaceport soon, though," John glanced around, "how we're supposed to get there I'm not sure."

Tacer stopped talking and waved them over just as Chiana and Jool emerged from the ship. Oddly enough, neither of them looked cold, either. "Hey, everyone, this is Kevel. Kevel, these are the people you don't want to know about. I've told him we need supplies. The coolant and the raw materials for the synthesizer we can get here, but for anything else it'll have to be Center Prime, the city. There's this sort of underground tram that's the easiest way to get there..."

"Center Prime?" Chiana echoed. "Why is it called Center Prime?"

"Prime ore-processing center," Kevel replied. He had more blue and green markings than either Tacer or the Elite scientists -- specialists -- she'd seen at the Bastarrex orbital, but in the harsh lights it was hard to see the colors. "Tacer, before you go running off to purchase clothing--"

Tacer nodded quickly, holding up a hand. "Questions, right, I know. Can you ask them while we get the coolant and so on?"

"Yes," the other Elite agreed. "That won't be a problem."

Aeryn spoke up. "And could the rest of us go to 'Center Prime' while you're busy here?" She wanted to leave Asfod'l as soon as possible.

"Aw, I wanted to see that," Tacer muttered, but looked at the other Elite. "Is that a problem? And what about that hazard thing?"

Kevel sighed. "They may actually be better off going to Center Prime without you, Tacer. Due to the... unusual nature of the city, Elite have a hard time accomplishing anything there without some complicated preparations. As for the biological hazard -- stay together, stay in the central areas, and watch where you step and you should be all right. It's not a contagious pathogen."

"What *is* the complicated nature of the city?" John asked, beating Aeryn to it.

"Telepathy," Kevel replied succinctly. "Nineteen out of twenty inhabitants of Center Prime are active telepaths. Some of them communicate purely by telepathy. And there's a lot of other activity of that sort as well -- that's the reason the science base was set up after the mines ran out, to study the interpsychic phenomena."

Tacer sighed, looking both disappointed and resigned. "I see. That would rather make it hard to accomplish much, wouldn't it." He turned to John, Aeryn, Chiana and Jool. "The genes that control psychic phenomena are very complex and very old, so the Makers didn't bother with them. This doesn't apply to *all* Generated -- Infiltrators for example can -- uh, never mind -- but Elite are psychically blind and deaf. Fifty telepaths could be trying to get my attention and I'd be oblivious. Fifty telepaths could be trying to read my mind and they'd get nothing. I have about the same magnitude of psychic presence as -- as an advanced computer."

John was looking intrigued -- and not even chilled, frell him. "So, say, Delvian Unity--"

"I don't know. Can they do Unity with computers?"

"Never mind," Aeryn interjected before the conversation could get any more involved. "About the biological hazard. It's not a normal pathogen. What *is* it?"

Kevel shook his head. "Well, that's the thing. We don't quite know."

//Oh, for the love of Chilnack...// "You don't *know*? You have a biological hazard severe enough for the Ashkren to put an interdict on this plant and you don't even know what it *is*?"

"Aeryn," John hissed. He probably wanted her to be more tactful. Well, tough.

Kevel, however, didn't seem really offended, though he was a little defensive. "We have some idea. It's--" He broke off.

"The computer records here were destroyed in the revolt," Tacer said helpfully. "Which is actually pretty strange, since this is one of the places where there wasn't so much fighting during the revolt. Aren't there still Makers here, Kevel?"

Jool perked up. "'Makers'? You mean actual Ashkren, living here?" *She* looked strange under the floodlights, too, all the red leached out of her hair.

Tacer sighed. "Don't mind her. Interions, you know."

"I haven't had to deal with them before... Yes, there are some Makers here. But I don't think that's what she was asking about." The older Elite gave Aeryn a wary look. "It's something the Makers made, or... changed. Like us, it escaped control."

>>changed.<<

Aeryn blinked. //What was...?// She looked over at Chiana, but the Nebari seemed to be listening attentively. It hadn't sounded like Crichton or Tacer or Jool... //Frell, I hate this place.// She suppressed a shiver of cold.

"Something interpsychic, obviously," Kevel was continuing. "Which means that Elite can't really understand it, and aren't susceptible to it. We think it lives in the deeper caverns. But as I said, don't wander off alone, and you should be all right."

"Uh huh." John nodded. "Give us a minute, please." He beckoned to Aeryn and Tacer, heading back towards the -- she still had a hard time saying it -- ~Sharp Stick~. "Tacer, can he hear us?"

Tacer looked back at Kevel. "Um... probably."

Crichton rolled his eyes. He *still* didn't look cold, but he *did* look nervous. "Okay, fine. He can listen. Tacer, do you have *any* idea what he's talkin' about with this 'biological hazard' deal? Heard anythin' about it before?"

Shrugging, Tacer shook his head. "No, but there's no reason I would have. I've never been here. No reason for me to come here. Why?"

"I'm not sure. It just seems..." John shook his head, looking frustrated as well as edgy. "It just seems strange that it would be called a biological hazard if it's not a disease or a toxin or somethin'. Hostile species are usually called *hostile species*, not biological hazards."

"Oh." Tacer frowned. "All right. No, I don't know about that one."

"I don't like this," Aeryn said, looking around. She still couldn't see anything beyond the landing platform. "This planet -- moon -- whatever it is, it's dangerous. We need the coolant, yes, but we can get that without leaving the base. I don't think we should go into the city." Besides, she'd had enough problems with planets of psychics to last a lifetime.

>>come to the city<<

There it was *again*. Just at the edge of hearing, whispers of... //Frell!// Now she couldn't even remember what it had been *saying*... //I suppose it doesn't much matter...//

"I don't know..." John said. "I mean, we're all still walkin' around dressed like Elite, which is bound to raise some eyebrows if we ever get away from Elite-populated space."

"A break would be nice," Chiana said, smiling engagingly at Kevel. "And I *definitely* want some new clothes. Come on, Crichton, we have experience dealing with dangerous things."

"Mostly unsuccessful," John replied, but he looked thoughtful. "I wonder how much this place keeps up on current events."

"Maybe they'll know something about Moya," Chiana put in.

"I still don't like it," Aeryn said, but she knew she was giving in. "And leaving Tacer here? He's the one who's familiar with the ground, as much as any of us are."

>>leave the Elite. you don't need the Elite<<

"He's never been here before," Chiana countered. "Even the other Elite said Elite didn't do too well in the city because of the... ah... interpsychic stuff."

"Or lack of stuff," Tacer said, looking from one to the other. "So... are you going to the city or not?"

>>come to the city<<

"I guess so," John sighed. "I *still* have a bad feeling about this, but... we gotta do what we gotta do. We should grab a backpack or two for the supplies. I take it you want to go to the city, Pip. Princess?"

Jool looked torn. "Well... are the Ashkren here or at the city?"

Tacer frowned, cocking his head. "Here, I think. You'd have to ask Kevel. And no, I have no idea whether they'd be willing to talk to you. Probably."

"All right. Chiana wants to go, Jool depends on the Ashkren, Tacer stays here." John turned to her. "I suppose we ought to go."

He sounded about as enthusiastic as she felt.

# # # #

~ii~

The route to the underground tram reminded John of nothing so much as an old mineshaft. It looked about as safe as one, too. //Damn, it even has wooden wall supports.// He honestly half-expected to see an old ore cart down one of those side shafts. The torches lighting the way, flickering in the air currents, only cemented the impression.

This place was *so* weird.

"...so Kevel said the best place to go to was a general supply depot, and the one people here go to when they have to is run by this Tanjan called S'ravel. Allegedly you can't miss it, there's a *really* bright magenta sign over the door, and S'ravel wears a tunic the same color. Kevel said." Tacer was keeping pace even though he was walking backwards. John was half-convinced he did that just to show off, but he was surprised the Elite was trying it in a place with such uneven ground. Of course, he hadn't tripped yet. "And since Tanjans usually aren't very receptive, psychically, he isn't so... well, so something. Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

>>leave the Elite<<

"We need you to get the coolant," Aeryn replied. She looked over her shoulder. The only person behind them was Chiana. John wondered if Aeryn was feeling nervous.

"And keep an eye on Princess," John added. After some consultation, Jool had been left behind to meet one of the resident Ashkren whom Kevel referred to, for some reason, as 'Records.' She seemed to have no qualms about this, but John couldn't help but be uneasy about *anyone* going off on their own here.

"I will," Tacer promised. He was walking them down to the tram, relaying advice from the locals and, probably, sightseeing as much as he could.

John nodded. "And keep an eye on yourself. Anything else?"

"I don't think -- oh! Kevel told me what Asfod'l's major exports are, as much as there are any major exports, now that the mines are gone, and there's some interpsychic stuff and more *psychoactive* stuff. The base doesn't keep track of it exactly, but there are supposed to be these huge fungus farms--"

"What sort of psychoactives?" Chiana asked, sounding far too intrigued.

John groaned. "*Not* now, Chiana. I have a very bad feeling about this."

"That's the second time you've said that." Tacer cocked his head curiously. "Is it a reference?"

"Yes, but waaay too complicated to explain just now." Of course, now he was going to have to try to explain ~Star Wars~ to Tacer, and wouldn't *that* be fun. "Is that the tram up there?" He pointed. Fortunately for his peace of mind, it didn't look like an old movie mine cart. More like a slightly rusty subway car.

Tacer turned around. "I expect so. Doesn't look like they've replaced *that* since the revolt... Just so long as it works, I guess. It only goes back and forth between here and the city, so the controls ought to be really simple."

Aeryn sped up, passing Tacer and heading for the tram. "Good. We can handle this, Tacer."

"All right... you guys be careful!"

Boarding the subway car, John waited for Chiana to follow him before giving Tacer a quick wave. "You too!" With some effort, he dragged the doors closed. "Hasn't been replaced since the revolt. Why does this not fill me with confidence... Aeryn, everything all right up there?" he called.

The Sebacean was up at the front of the tram, examining the controls, which did indeed appear to be very simple. "Yes. I'm going to activate it now..."

With a lurch, the tram started moving, slowly coming up to jolting, bone-rattling speed. John joined Aeryn up front to try and get a look ahead of them, but the window was too dirty to see through. //Wonder how often anyone uses this thing? Can't be *that* much trouble to wash the frelling windows...// "So, how's this thing work?" he asked, looking over Aeryn's shoulder.

She looked back at him, and pointed to a rusty-looking lever. "This starts it." Another lever. "This stops it." A third, larger, even more rusty-looking lever. "This changes direction."

John was impressed. "Huh. That *is* pretty simple."

"How long until we get there?" Chiana asked, joining them, just before an especially violent jolt threw her into John, John into Aeryn, and Aeryn into the wall before sending them all to the floor in a heap.

They picked themselves up; Aeryn shook her head. "I have no idea, Chiana. It couldn't be more than an arn or two. Probably not less than a half-arn."

John sighed, moving over to the side of them tram. "I just wish there was someplace to sit other than the floor. This thing has the most *appalling* suspension..."

Aeryn was back up at the front. "You'd be better off wishing we had some way of controlling this thing a little more, or at least some way to tell if the track's obstructed. It doesn't even have any frelling *windows*, much less sensors!"

Chiana snorted. "*I* just wish I knew why the Ashkren designed their frelling tram to look so much like a Nebari one."

Together, John and Aeryn turned to give Chiana looks of complete incredulity. John managed to speak first. "Now, I grant you I've never been there, but I somehow got the impression that Nebari stuff was--"

>>forget<<

"--a little -- uh -- *cleaner* than this..." He trailed off. //What's cleaner...?//

>>it is of no importance. forget.<<

"Maybe we should work out what we'll be lookin' for when we get there," John suggested. "Tacer's supposed to be takin' care of food, and we have a load of weapons on the ship... mostly clothes and information, I guess? And food, if we want any kind of variety. I am *sick* of Elite ration bars..."

"Clothes and information," Aeryn agreed. "And it might not be a bad idea to get food -- in case Tacer can't get that synthesizer to work."

John chuckled. "Have a little faith."

"Prepare for the worst," Aeryn countered.

Laughing again, he settled in for a bumpy ride.

# # # # #

Kevel met Tacer at the door between the tunnel to the tram and the base proper, standing next to the single guard -- even compared to an agricultural base, the security on Asfod'l was a little lax. "Did they find the tram all right?"

Tacer nodded. "Yes, no problem... except that thing really is old, isn't it? I thought it dated to the revolt but considering, I think it must be older than that. Do you know?"

"No, I don't, but I assume it dates from the operation of the mines," Kevel replied. "If you really care, you could ask Records."

Once past the guarded door, dingy, poorly-lit tunnel gave way to cleaner but obviously old corridor. At least it was better lit. "Oh, it's no big deal. I was just wondering. You know me, always poking my nose into things." Tacer looked sideways at Kevel to see if any of his unusual phraseology had been noticed. Apparently not. How disappointing. "Why do you call him Records, anyway? Or her?"

"Her," Kevel said. "Why are you using gender-specific pronouns?"

Hey, he *was* paying attention! "Oh, no reason. Well, I mean, the language I'm using doesn't have any other kind, and I'm using it for no real reason. New languages are fun. So why is she called Records?"

"Because that's what she does, Tacer. She keeps the base's records. We don't generally call the Makers here by their names."

"Oh." Was that left over from before the revolt? //Probably.// And on that topic... "So in your opinion, Kevel, why *did* things here go differently during the revolt, anyway? The remoteness? Something to do with this nebulous biological hazard I still don't understand?"

Kevel was giving him an odd look -- but a familiar one. People seemed to get it a lot. "Tacer, I'd forgotten what a conversation with you could be like."

"Not surprising. I haven't seen you since before you were posted here, at least -- that'd be..." Tacer thought back. "On Kenna, just before Lashan got her division. Five cycles. So why'd you get posted here? You have to volunteer for the Extraterritorial Division, don't you?"

"Yes, you do. Supply storage is this way. Tacer, you may have forgotten, but when I mentioned questions I thought *I* would be asking them."

"Right." Kevel wanted to know what had happened to prompt Central Jurisdate to seal the borders, and incidentally strand the Extraterritorial Division extraterritorially. "Sorry. When it started I was in the mountains -- we were on Sarac, agricultural -- and I got back from my hike to hear that a Peacekeeper Marauder had crashed in one of the fields and Lashan had unsealed the Vault..."

# # # # #

It wasn't quite as dark as Aeryn had expected -- not as dark as it had been around the landing platform, anyway. At least enough light filtered down from the permanently overcast sky to let her see what sort of a 'city' they were dealing with. //Not much of one.// Buildings crowded together on either side of a narrow street. Though it was hard to tell -- none of the buildings was exactly towering -- she thought there were only a few additional streets on either side before city gave way again to that impenetrable darkness.

//There's something not right here.//

"Well, no fungus farms so far," John observed, coming up beside her. "And no people. Maybe we've arrived in the middle of the night?"

"Is the term 'night' even meaningful here?" Aeryn asked, still looking around. No people -- maybe that was the problem. //No, it's more than that...//

"Well, yeah, I think. I mean, *something* has to get through the clouds, or there wouldn't be anything in the greenhouse to affect and Asfod'l would just be a frozen chunk of rock."

//It's not?// Aeryn thought, but he was still talking.

"So it only makes sense there'd be at least a little light coming through... actually, they probably have three states, depending on their position with regard to the planet as well as orientation to their sun. See, just like moonlight, the reflection off Tynar--"

"I know that, Crichton," she interrupted. "I meant because of the cloudcover."

"Oh." He deflated slightly. "Well, something gets through so the greenhouse effect works. Remind me to tell you about Venus sometime. I wonder if it rains here...? But it's probably only because of the density of the upper atmosphere that this place is inhabitable at all, much less so warm."

Warm? Surely he was joking--

>>forget<<

"I think I see the supply depot," Chiana said, before John could expound any more theories about Asfod'l and how it worked. "Look, over there."

Aeryn looked. The Elite back at the base hadn't been exaggerating about the color of the sign. Happily, the building wasn't too far away. Frell, but she *hated* this planet. Moon. Whatever.

Just outside the door, she stopped Crichton and Chiana. "While we're here, let's try to avoid dropping names. Especially yours," she added, looking at Crichton. "That is not a safe name. Especially now."

He nodded. "Makes sense. Just call me Mr. Underhill."

Humans. She was never going to understand them...

There were people inside the supply depot, all of whom turned to look as the trio walked inside. It was a mix of species, not all of which she recognized, but probably suitable to this miserable outpost. Keeping one eye on the locals in case they turned hostile, Aeryn started looking over the merchandise. One wall held racks and shelves of clothing. Most of what was visible at first glance seemed to be drab, brown, and loose.

Chiana groaned softly. "I didn't think this was possible, but that's worse than the Elite uniforms."

John shook his head. "But less conspicuous. C'mon, Pippin, let's take a closer look."

Happily, it didn't take long to find plain black leather pants -- possibly even of Peacekeeper make, though how this place would have gotten Peacekeeper uniforms she didn't know. And -- good, there were plain black shirts as well. Aeryn started examining the sizes. This should do for her and Crichton, anyway.

Joining her, John murmured, "How's it look... um... you know, you are *not* very hobbitlike. Eowyn? Maybe. Aragorn?"

"Are you just taking advantage of Tacer's absence to use lots of Earth references so you won't have to explain them?" she hissed back.

"Um, given that I'm already going to have to explain ~Star Wars~... yeah, it probably is a good thing he's not here just now." John sighed. "Can you see anywhere how much these cost? Not that I'd be able to read the labels anyway--"

She held up a hand to stop him. Someone was approaching -- not the person in the magenta tunic, but another man, wearing some of the baggy brown robes. "You aren't the vendor, are you?" Aeryn asked.

He shook his head. "But I work here, honored customer. What are you looking for?"

"Clothing and food," Aeryn replied, hoping she could deal with the bargaining. Where had Chiana gotten to?

The man looked over them. "You're strangers here."

There was a pause. He seemed to expect them to say something. "Yes?" John said at last.

"You have no warding-cords," said the man, as if this should mean something. At their incomprehension, he indicated what she'd assumed was some form of decoration, hanging around his neck. "Warding-cords, like this."

Aeryn looked around. Yes, all of the locals there were wearing the strings of strange-looking beads and pouches. "What do these... warding-cords... ward against?"

"Witches," replied the local. He looked perfectly serious.

John groaned softly. "I've cursed us. I should have said 'Call me the Scarlet Pimpernel'," he muttered. "What sort of witches? What do they do?"

The local blinked, as if this, like the 'warding-cords', should be obvious. "Well... witches. They can make you do things. They talk to the whisperers."

This was getting better and better. Aeryn looked at John for his reaction, only to find him looking at her. She sighed inwardly. What she *wanted* to do was tell this irritating man to forget the frelling 'warding-cords' and sell them the clothes. Except... he'd mentioned 'whisperers'. There was something about that... "How?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

>>magic<<

"Magic, honored customer. Magic to counter magic. The witches--"

A loud cough-growl caused the local to break off midsentence as the Tanjan in the magenta tunic came over. He was at least a head taller than Aeryn or Crichton and towered over the hunched local. "What are you doing? These people are travelers! *I* serve travelers. There are other customers here -- go!" The first local scurried off as the Tanjan bowed to them. "Greetings, travelers. I am S'ravel. I apologize for... that. The locals here can be quite superstitious."

S'ravel, Aeryn noted, had a warding-cord on his belt.

"So, honored customers, what may I help you with?"

"Clothing, provisions, and information if possible," John said shortly. Aeryn approved. The sooner they finished at the depot, the sooner they could leave.

>>send him to Maike<<

The Tanjan nodded. "Clothing and provisions you can find here, honored customers. Information -- well, for information you could talk to Maike."

//Maike -- frell, I've heard that somewhere before...//

John's expression was studiously neutral. "And who would that be?"

"Maike is the city Speaker," S'ravel replied. "She is probably in the area, if you wish to see her while your friends conclude their purchases."

>>talk to Maike<<

"Yeah, I... could do that..." John said slowly, frowning.

Every instinct Aeryn had screamed for attention. "Just a microt," she said to the Tanjan, and dragged Crichton off to the other side of a rack of pornographic vidchips. She gave him a quick shake. "*What* is the first piece of advice that Elite gave us about avoiding the 'biological hazard' while we were here?"

John blinked and shook his head, his expression clearing somewhat. "Right. Stay together, don't go off by yourself." He frowned again. "I knew that."

"Yes, and I expect it also means don't go off by yourself to talk to strange people, city Speakers or not!" Aeryn hissed.

"Point taken." John looked over in the direction of the Tanjan. "God, Aer-- Aragorn, something's *not* right here. I keep -- it's like--"

>>talk to Maike<<

John shook his head violently. "*Damn* it! We'll talk to... Maike... together or not at all. *Right*. That's settled."

"Settled," Aeryn agreed. "None of us--"

>>talk to Maike<<

"--none of us will go *anywhere* alone." It should *not* be this frelling hard to think.

>>talk to Maike<<

"So we'll see this Maike for information, after we take care of the clothes. Together." John looked over his shoulder towards S'ravel again. "Did you hear something?"

>>you hear nothing. talk to Maike<<

"No, I... don't think I did."

# # # #

~iii~

It hadn't taken long at all to get used to the Asfod'l base. True, there was something subtly unsettling about Asfod'l itself -- especially its landscape -- but the base was much the same as every other small ground base Tacer had visited, passed through, or lived in. Without asking, he knew how to find the barracks, medical facility, or recreational areas; he could also predict in general outline what each of these things would *look* like, and probably be dead on about the colors. The sounds were familiar, too -- there would be uniform production down that way, there was a creche or very junior training unit drilling in unarmed combat behind the blue doors, and someone was clattering around inside an environmentals duct in the ceiling. Cleaning it, he assumed. All familiar, all easily identifiable.

All frelling *boring*. Maybe in a few cycles he'd be -- what was the word? -- *homesick* for Elite space, Elite bases, Elite ways of doing things, and something like this would seem comfortingly homelike. But so far -- no.

What *was* interesting about the Asfod'l base was the way things had turned out differently during the revolt. Which he still hadn't heard about. Which was why he needed to explain the whole Bastarrex fiasco as quickly as possible.

"...and by that time Peacekeepers had boarded, which is probably why Etael decided to see reason. That and she knew by that time I had to have already half-rigged the place to explode. So where'd this coolant come from?" Tacer asked, steering the drum he was rolling out onto the landing platform. "Left over from the revolt?"

Kevel sighed. "Yes. We don't have much use for this kind of coolant here, Tacer. The Asfod'l base has been using hetch drives for a long time."

Tacer tensed slightly as he saw movement around the ~Sharp Stick~, then relaxed when he saw the aptitude stripes. "What are the techs here for?"

"Getting the coolant in correctly," Kevel replied. "Fortunately we have people here who *had* full tech training -- from Kenna and Renet Base. I don't think maintenance of old Maker ships is covered on on Shonveh or the agricultural worlds, much less here."

He'd suffered through enough rotations on agricultural bases to know about that. "No, it's not, unless you get sent somewhere else to a special tech training unit..." Tacer said. "Which happens occasionally, depending on the captain. Oh, and that reminds me -- is anyone actually going around being called Such-a-name Rezasfod'l?"

That actually startled a laugh. "No, Tacer. Reztynar, and it isn't much of a creche." Kevel stopped at a shrill beep -- a comm which, sadly, must be set at a specific frequency so other people couldn't listen in without a lot of luck. "Here. Yes... understood." Kevel looked at Tacer. "Sorry, but I have to take care of something. Will you be all right here for a while?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'll stay out of trouble." He waved Kevel away. Approaching the ~Sharp Stick~, Tacer started to head for the hatch to let the techs in, but saw that one of them had already crawled *under* the ship. He bent down to look. "Is that another maintenance access?"

"Yes, but you need to open it," the tech said. "Where did you *find* this thing? I've never seen a Maker ship this small."

"Um..." Tacer trailed off -- he wasn't sure how much, or little, he should be saying about Bastarrex. Was it better to keep quiet about its existence or spread the word of its destruction?

"Oh. I see," said the tech. "Something classified. Forget it, then, just get down here and unseal the access."

Tacer did, thinking that he would never have given up the inquiry so soon. But then, he was the terminally insubordinate one. //"Literally, if you're not careful, Tacer."// He could almost hear his sister Lashan's usual follow-up to the description. He did miss Lashan, he decided.

He made the techs show him how to put in the coolant, mentally plotted out the method to use from the interior maintenance crawlspace, and was just trying to figure out how to raise the subject of Asfod'l and its weirdness when one of the techs beat him to it. "So... a rumor's been going around that the border's been sealed. True?" The other tech, still under the ship, seemed to be listening, too.

Tacer nodded. "True. I don't know how long they're planning on keeping it that way, though."

The tech grimaced as she leaned against the ship. "Frell. I hope it won't be too long."

He raised his eyebrows. "Eager to get off Asfod'l?"

"*Yes*," the tech said forcefully. "This wasn't what I was expecting when I asked for extraterritorial duty. I suppose Asfod'l is all right if you look at it the right way, but... I don't *want* to look at it the right way."

//Hmm...// "What do you mean?" Tacer asked encouragingly.

"I mean..." The tech paused. "I'm no medical specialist. But staying here too long... changes people. Even Elite, and we're *supposed* to be unaffected by it."

Now they were getting somewhere... "What's 'it'?"

"The... experiment, the biological hazard. The..."

"Don't say it!" said the tech under the ship, but the first one didn't stop.

"The whisperers."

# # # # #

The building to which they were directed to find 'Maike' was easily twice as large as any of the others, *and* better-lit. Apparently city Speaker was a pretty cushy position. Honestly, John had to wonder just what a city Speaker on Asfod'l *did*. //Traffic laws for pedestrians? Quality control for the hallucinogenic mushrooms? Telling the year's single visiting ship where to land? Trade with the Elite base? They certainly aren't spending much effort maintaining that tram...//

"I wasn't done in the depot," Chiana grumbled, interrupting his thoughts. "Maybe you two are willing to just grab the first black clothes you see, taking someone else's word for it that they'll even fit, but I'm not."

That wasn't quite fair -- they estimated the right size of clothing themselves, too, before taking S'ravel's recommendations and throwing the clothes in Aeryn's backpack -- but he knew better than to get into an argument with Chiana about shopping. //Never fight the master.//

"I don't think it's necessary for you to closely examine every garment offered, either," Aeryn countered. "You had time."

"No I didn't!" Chiana said, looking outraged. "One microt we're walking in, the next one you two are up paying and saying we have to leave! Why can't you two go to see this person and let me finish?"

"Because, Pip, if you remember, no one is supposed to go off by themselves," John replied. The longer he spent here the more sensible it seemed, too. For some reason he had the feeling that it would be *very* easy to get lost here, just disappear into the night...

"I wouldn't be going off by myself, I'd be staying in the depot with lots of other people. I don't think anything is going to jump out from behind the clothes racks and grab me."

"Wanna bet?" John said ominously.

Aeryn was walking with one hand on her pulse pistol. "We're going to be careful," she said firmly. "And that means *staying together*."

Looking once again at the building, John changed the subject. "So how are we going to approach this?" he asked. "We need a reason for our questions. I guess we could claim to be bounty hunters lookin' for us."

"No. That wouldn't work," Aeryn said firmly.

"Sure it would. They don't know what we look like--"

"Something would happen, and it wouldn't work. In fact, it would backfire."

John looked at her for a minute, mystified, before comprehension dawned. "Oh. Oh. I get it. This is another crack about the effectiveness of my plans."

"Especially those plans which involve you pretending to be someone else," Aeryn confirmed. "They never work. They always backfire."

"That's not true!" Of course, the more spectacular impersonation attempts he could recall -- Shadow Depository, Gammak base, the Marauder crew before the Gammak base -- hadn't ended very well, but-- "It's not my fault! Things just... come up."

"Exactly!" said Aeryn. "Something unanticipated will happen. Something *always* happens."

"All right, fine, fine." Aeryn Sun, superstitious Peacekeeper. Not that he was going to tell her this. And of course this did seem to be a good place for superstition. "So what do *you* suggest? Try to bury the things we're interested in in the middle of a pile of other questions?"

"Better than pretending to be bounty hunters," Aeryn replied. "What would bounty hunters have been doing in Elite space?"

"I'm sure we could have come up with some reason." They were nearly at the door of the large stone building, and he lowered his voice. "We need questions. Try to come up with some. Pip, how 'bout we do the talking until we know what we're dealing with."

The Nebari groaned. "I should have stayed at the depot."

The doors were opened for them by two extremely nondescript men in brown robes. "Your business?" one of them asked.

"We're here to see the city Speaker," Aeryn replied.

The extremely nondescript man nodded. "Come this way."

He led them to a sort of great hall which had to be two or three stories high -- as tall as the building. It was lit by a series of braziers along the walls, but otherwise was short on furniture. There didn't seem to be anywhere to sit down -- or indeed, much of anything besides braziers, pillars, and a door at each end. John half-expected Aeryn or Chiana to make a comment about primitives, but they remained silent.

>>"Welcome."<<

John blinked. He almost hadn't seen the woman come in. "Uh... hi."

>>"I am Maike, speaker of Asfod'l."<< The woman smiled. Her clothing seemed oddly suitable to the decor -- a long, dark blue dress that wouldn't have looked out-of-place on Earth, at least during some historical periods. >>"And you are?"<<

"I'm... uh... Underhill. Call me Underhill." He shook his head quickly, trying to clear it. Maike sounded so strange, as if--

>>sound echoes in the hall<<  
>>an echo effect<<

\--the hall had a pretty strong echo effect. Must make these formal audiences interesting. Though he had to wonder, why no chairs.

>>"And how can I help you?"<<

It sounded weird even for an echo. "We want some, uh, information, if possible. We've been out of touch for a while." //I note *my* voice isn't echoing...//

>>forget<<

Maybe it was something to do with the shape of the building that made the echoes strange, or the atmosphere. Beside him, he noticed that Aeryn was frowning slightly. The place obviously had her ill-at-ease, too.

Maike smiled and nodded. >>"What sort of information do you seek?"<<

"I... uh..." John trailed off, distracted, and hoped Aeryn could take up the slack. He was starting to develop a piercing headache, right behind his eyes.

>>why this awareness?<<  
>>should not be, not these species<<  
>>not possible<<

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Dammit, what *was* that...?

>>perceive, there is awareness<<  
>>a problem<<

Whatever it was, it was only getting worse, along with his headache. They needed to get off this frelling moon before they all went completely insane.

//Insane.// Frell, *that* was why it seemed so oddly, horribly familiar...

>>"Is something wrong?"<< Maike asked solicitously.

"No, nothing's wrong," John denied. //I just realized I'm hearing things that aren't there, that's all. Aeryn, please, talk to this person for me.//

>>things that aren't there?<<

Oh, now the voices were offended. //Harvey, if you're responsible for this, you're gonna be in the dumpster *so* fast--//

He waited for the neural clone to reply.

Nothing.

//All right, this is strange.//

Aeryn was asking Maike about something, and he realized he hadn't heard a word either of them had said. He hoped briefly that his distraction hadn't been noticed, but one look at Chiana's concerned face squashed *that* one.

>>distraction<<  
>>a distraction<<

Avoiding Chiana's eyes and trying to ignore whatever it was he kept almost-hearing, John tried instead to figure out where Aeryn and Maike had gotten. Maike seemed to be saying something about political happenings on some planet he'd never heard of, while Aeryn attempted to look interested with a very small amount of success. Nothing useful so far, then.

>>a distraction<<  
>>stop thinking, start feeling<<  
>>distraction<<

//Okay, Johnny, pull yourself together.// He had to pay attention.

>>"Of course, that is merely the news close to us. Farther away very strange things have been happening."<< Maike looked very serious. >>"They say the Peacekeepers have destroyed a planet."<<

//Oh, frell. Dammit, no, please.// John saw Aeryn stiffen and hoped he didn't look as bad as he felt. "Frell," he said, trying to sound relatively calm. "Why'd they do that?"

>>"They say they wished to demonstrate the power of their new weaponry."<< Maike frowned slightly. >>"They call it wormholes."<<

John felt sick.

>>and who is to blame?<<

He'd tried, god knew he'd tried, to stop Scorpius. It had been a stupid, stupid plan, but it had been the best he could come up with and he'd *tried*. And the best hadn't been good enough, and he'd ended up in an out-of-control Marauder in Elite space, and now Scorpius had wormholes... //Frell. Frell. Frell.// He'd failed, and now an entire planet had paid the price.

>>and your friends...<<

He didn't dare look at Aeryn or Chiana. He'd gotten them stuck out here for nothing, nearly gotten them all killed for nothing. And oh, god, he'd even failed the other him, how could he face Aeryn...

>>other him? how strange<<  
>>be cautious, remember, they are aware<<  
>>now the Nebari -- but not the same, see, there is this way--<<

John felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" Aeryn. No, dammit, he wasn't all right, but he had only himself to blame. Before he could say anything, though, Chiana gasped.

>>you are having a vision. you see the supply depot. just leaving the supply depot is a Nebari. you recognize him. it is Meelak. he knows where your brother is.<<

Chiana looked staggered. "Oh, frell. I just -- a vision -- I gotta get back to the depot!"

"What do you mean?" Aeryn said. "You can't just go off by yourself--"

"It's -- it's -- Meelak, from the Resistance, he's here, on Asfod'l, I gotta talk to him!" Chiana was already all but racing out the door. "I have to go--"

Through his own shock and numb horror, John was aware that something was very, very wrong. He didn't know how Chiana's visions worked, but he was pretty sure his half-heard hallucinations weren't supposed to recite them beforehand. //If these are hallucinations at all...// "Look, Pip, I don't think this is such a good idea--"

>>forget<<

"Will you wait thirty microts!" Aeryn said. "There's something -- something--" She broke off. "How do you know this vision is--"

>>forget<<

"I have to talk to him! My brother--"

John struggled. Something was *terribly* wrong. "No, somethin' is happenin' and I *don't* like it. Pip, stay here at least until we've discussed this in normal tones of--"

>>FORGET<<

He made a grab for Chiana as she dashed off, but missed. "Damn visions, always popping up at the worst times--" John turned to Aeryn. //Wormholes, hallucinations, now this.// "What the frell is Meelak doing on this godforsaken mudhole?"

"He might be trying to hide," Aeryn replied. "We'd better go after her."

>>she doesn't really want to go with you<<

Aeryn certainly was good at subordinating wishes to necessity. "Right, c'mon."

>>they both go<<  
>>unacceptable<<  
>>fixable<<

>>"But do you not wish to hear the rest of the information?"<< Maike asked. >>"We heard a story from a bounty hunter about a recently captured Leviathan..."<<

//All right, that is just a little too damn convenient!// John thought angrily, and turned on the city Speaker. "Bull! Lady, I don't know what game you're playin', but--"

>>YOU WILL BELIEVE<<

"But... I guess we need any information we can get," he finished, and wondered why that sounded so lame. "Aer-- Aragorn? You wanna stay or should I?"

"You go after her, she's more likely to listen to you," Aeryn replied. "I'll meet you at the tram terminus in two arns."

"Got it." With that, John turned and left the great stone hall, out into the dark, dark night. He didn't see Chiana; he could barely see anything at all. And he knew, *knew*, that he had missed something important. If he could just figure out what...

# # # #

~iv~

Aeryn shook her head, trying to clear it. //How the frell did this happen?// Splitting up hadn't been in the plan. In fact, it had specifically *not* been in the plan. And she couldn't shake the feeling they were missing something--

>>it becomes more difficult<<  
>>be cautious, be cautious<<

The half-heard whispers were still there, too. If anything, they'd gotten worse. She was reminded again, unpleasantly, of Valldon -- and she hadn't to deal with bureaucrats there. //It's not so bad. I'm not alone here -- even if we've somehow split up...// But this time there wasn't any raslak to explain *why* she couldn't trust her own perceptions. Miserable planet and its miserable psychics and -- *witches*. As if she believed *that*. Still-- //That local said witches could make you do things. We weren't going to split up...//

>>forget<<

And... what had she been thinking of? She kept losing her train of thought. The atmosphere of Asfod'l might be better than Valldon's, but Asfod'l was at *least* as bad for rational thought. Those frelling psychics--

>>distraction<<  
>>allowing too much time<<

>>"Time has passed quickly. Would you care for refreshments?"<< Maike was smiling that strange, empty smile again.

"No," Aeryn said shortly. She wanted to leave as quickly as possible -- and she wasn't going to take any food from someone she didn't trust, especially not on a planet with some unnamed biological hazard. "You said you have information about a Leviathan." From a bounty hunter. Why would a bounty hunter be on Asfod'l? Hadn't they decided that was too implausible to use for a disguise before they came in? //Well, implausible plus a problematic plan...//

>>"Of course,"<< Maike replied. >>"I'm afraid I do not recall the precise details. Our databanks are farther into the building. If you will come this way, please?"<< And she turned and started down the long, shadowy hall. Reluctantly, Aeryn followed.

The air was chill around her, and a breeze caught the strands of hair which had escaped from her braid, sending them into her face. Windows high up on the otherwise blank, featureless walls let in little light -- not that there was much light to let in -- and the artificial lighting was woefully inadequate. Not that there seemed to be many people around to suffer from the light, or lack thereof. Surely a governmental center like this -- whatever it was called -- ought to have functionaries, techs, guards, other visitors, cleaning staff, *something*, but apart from the door-sentries and Maike herself, Aeryn hadn't seen a single person. The huge building was as silent as space. Even her footfalls made no sound on the dull gray floor.

>>what is this?<<  
>>details only<<  
>>important details<<  
>>inability<<

And the -- the frelling *whispers*! She still couldn't *quite* understand the words, but they were growing ever more oppressive, as if all the people who should have been staffing the building had gathered behind her, and all of them were talking about her. She even found herself looking over her shoulder, just in case, but of course there was no one there...

>>perception increases<<  
>>details?<<  
>>many requirements, fully occupied<<

Her feet seemed to be getting heavy. Each step was more difficult. Aeryn frowned, wondering how long it had been since she'd slept... less than a day, she thought. They'd arrived at Asfod'l before midday, ship's time, and... //And I have no idea how long it's been since then. Frelling cloudcover!//

She wasn't sure whether it was because of the dim light or the abnormal size of the building, but she couldn't see the end of the corridor.

>>details required!<<

And suddenly they were passing a huge bank of control consoles on the wall which could have been taken right out of a command carrier, staffed with very nondescript techs. This was insane. Just how had Peacekeeper technology gotten to this miserable mudhole on the border of the Elite fringe?

>>details!<<  
>>attempting!<<

Aeryn tried to catch up with Maike, intending to demand some answers, but somehow the city Speaker stayed always just ahead, and the hallway was starting to fill with people. //Maybe they had an emergency drill and are just coming back? I do *not* think so.// Fuming, Aeryn broke into a jog. "Maike, what is--"

Her feet went out from under her, everything flickered for a microt, and suddenly she was sitting up to her chest in lukewarm, murky water, in the middle of a swamp, under the dull glow of the overcast sky, and she was alone.

>>what?<<  
>>what happens?<<  
>>too much attempted, blameless<<

She took a deep breath. "What. The. Frell." There didn't seem to be much else to say.

>>bring it back<<  
>>quickly<<

The corridor flickered in and out around her for a microt, there was a hint of chill, but Aeryn shook her head firmly. She was drenched, even with her water-repellent Elite fatigues, and the water was tepid, with no ice in sight. This -- the swamp -- was real, and it followed that the building, and probably Maike, *weren't* real, and the entire interview they'd had had been manipulation. With a sinking feeling, Aeryn wondered what other things they'd seen on Asfod'l hadn't been real, either. Hadn't there been some -- some kind of confusion in the tram? Chiana had said something, and--

>>forget<<  
>>forget what?<<  
>>too many contradictions<<

\--and it didn't take much to connect all this to the mysterious biological hazard. //What is it the Elite said? "Stay together, stay in the central areas, and watch where you step."// They weren't together, she wasn't in a central area, and sitting chest-deep in water didn't count as watching where she stepped... especially when she thought she felt movement, underwater. Assuming *that* was real.

Whatever the case, Aeryn got to her feet as quickly as she could, trying to shake water out of the fatigues and wishing she could get the water out of her boots, which were probably completely waterlogged. How long had she been wading without realizing it? At least her pulse pistol seemed to still be in working order.

>>enough<<  
>>lost this one<<  
>>perhaps later<<  
>>focus on the others<<

//The others...// Oh, frell. John and Chiana were back there, *some*where, and it was a pretty safe guess that they too were alone, out of central areas, and not watching where they stepped. As quickly as she could in knee-deep water, Aeryn slogged towards the city.

At least, she hoped it was towards the city.

# # # # #

Not five minutes after leaving the Center Prime city hall, or whatever they called it, John had gotten lost, and he was still wandering he didn't know *how* long later. Once you got away from the single main street, the place was a maze of tiny streets and back alleys that would put an anthill to shame. //They really shouldn't have hired King Minos's architect to do their street grid -- well, unless they've got a Minotaur around here somewhere.// Somehow, that wouldn't surprise him.

Of course, between the darkness and the way the ramshackle buildings seemed to lean in over him in the dark, it was disturbing enough without a Minotaur. He could buy the sloppy city planning. He could even convince himself that he still wasn't seeing any *people* because this dark period functioned as night for Asfod'l's lucky denizens, and they were all asleep instead of muddling around in foggy alleys, with not a streetlight to be seen -- did the city government actually *do* anything?

How he had gotten into the anthill-rabbit warren of side streets when he'd only been trying to follow Chiana to the supply depot was another question entirely, and one to which he didn't have an answer.

>>it was dark<<  
>>easy to become confused<<

He really should have gotten hold of a flashlight, or whatever the local equivalent was called. "Just got turned around in the dark, that's all," he said aloud, but it didn't do anything to ease his mind, because unlike Maike's huge hall, here he *did* hear faint echoes of his words coming back to him, as if he were in a cave, not an alley.

>>strange planet<<

Sure, everything else on Asfod'l was strange, but he really didn't see an especially dense upper atmosphere causing echo effects on the ground, in the middle of the city. And then there was the way the air *smelled*, moist and faintly stuffy and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on--

>>garbage dump<<

He was still hearing that damned *murmuring*, too, which he'd attribute to Harvey, except that Harvey didn't usually bother to be subtle any more. And apart from the murmuring, there hadn't been even a whisper -- //nice turn of phrase, John// -- of the neural clone's presence, which was also strange.

>>too much thinking<<  
>>distract focus<<

But -- was that a wider street? Maybe not the main street, but at this point he'd be happy to find the city hall or even the tram terminus. No city should be this confusing.

# # # # #

The ~Sharp Stick~ was full of coolant, with a spare tank in storage.

The food synthesizer had been scrubbed and resupplied with raw materials. Just in case, they also had a few crates of basic rations. The drinking water system had been carefully tuned.

The guidance system had been supplied with the newest navigational data -- or at least the newest available on Asfod'l.

Ammunition -- for both the ship and small arms -- had been restocked.

The main compartment, the control compartment, the storage/maintenance compartment, the sanitary unit, and the maintenance crawlspace had been thoroughly cleaned.

Tacer had gone over the whole Bastarrex mess for Kevel, in excruciating detail.

He'd outlined current events in Elite space for a variety of curious people in the base, in considerably less detail.

He'd wound his way down through the base to look in on Jool's conversation with Records, and paused for a while to goggle at the first actual Ashkren he'd ever seen. She didn't look a whole lot like the images he'd seen in -- uh -- records, but he'd guessed that might be because she was elderly. However, since the conversation was focusing on the chain of events that had led to Jool being a frozen organ-donor, and he'd heard the story at least twice, he hadn't hung around for much longer, but had wandered back up towards the landing platform.

He'd gotten the techs to show him how to restock the ~Sharp Stick~ with coolant, food synthesizer raw materials, and ammunition.

He'd listened to the latest Asfod'l base gossip.

He'd wandered back down to find Jool and Records again, and see if they were discussing anything more interesting. If they had been, he'd missed it, so he just reminded Jool he was there if she needed anything and went slowly back up, stopping en route to watch a training unit.

And Crichton, Aeryn, and Chiana still weren't back.

Tacer sighed and leaned on the patched, cracked pavement of the wall. He was still waiting at the tram terminus, and he guessed he would for a while, but you didn't have to be a data analyst to figure out something had gone very, very wrong.

Complicated preparations to function in the city, Kevel had said. //I wonder just how complicated he meant?//

# # # #

~v~

It was impossible to keep track of time in the alleyways. Not only did John not know how long he'd been lost, but he couldn't even guess how long it had taken him to get from one slightly wider alley to another -- he'd only come up with 'awhile.' "Again I ask," John muttered aloud, "why hasn't anyone out here invented the wristwatch? It's not that challengin' a concept!" Maybe there was some way he could sell the idea. If so, hopefully he'd get a free wristwatch in the bargain.

>>wristwatch?<<  
>>unimportant<<

And there the were again, the friendly neighborhood whisperers. //Harvey, do you have any company in there?//

>>what is this Harvey?<<

More whispers, but again no response from Harvey. John grimaced. It wasn't that he especially wanted to talk to Harvey, or for that matter wanted to talk to Harvey at all, but this prolonged silence, when John had been thinking of him, seemed... strange.

For an instant he was standing just outside some kind of barred door, and he might have caught a glimpse of Harvey, but then the alley was back.

>>strange<<  
>>very strange<<  
>>what *is* that?<<

Well, that answered the question of whether the... things... were connected to Harvey. Probably not. In fact, it almost seemed like... it? they? were *suppressing* Harvey. //Well, serves him right.// But Harvey was at least a known quantity.

>>how very strange<<  
>>reassurances<<  
>>it is controlled<<  
>>will not interfere<<

Also, apparently, now a known quantity to his latest collection of mental guests. Would there be any point in getting advice on how to expel the newcomers? Harvey had been full of advice during the coma incident -- not that it had ultimately done much good, but--

>>no<<  
>>you do not wish to contact it<<

John stopped and glared around him at the darkness. "Plus, Harvey's mostly given up the subliminal messages, which are a *real* good way of annoyin' me!" He really, really did not care for this bunch, their habit of poking into every little thought which came into his head, commenting on everything -- if Harvey was the peanut gallery, this bunch were-- "A Greek Chorus," he said. "That's what I've got. A frellin' Greek Chorus!"

>>haste is called for<<

For his part, John thought a *distraction* was called for. //I'll give them something to whisper about--// Greek Chorus, yeah. He took a deep breath, and started singing. "There once lived a man named Oedipus Rex, you may have heard about his odd complex, his name appears in Freud's index, 'cause he--"

>>what *is* this?<<  
>>incomprehension!<<

The stuffy smell got stronger, but the alleys seemed a little less twisted, navigation a little more straightforward. //Knew it couldn't really be that confusing.// John smiled and kept walking -- and singing. "His rivals used to say quite bit that, as a monarch he was most unfit--" The quality of the light was changing. It wasn't getting any brighter, but it was getting yellower, more like torches or artificial light than what filtered through the thick atmosphere. "--but still and all they had to admit that he loved his mother! Yes, he--"

>>do something!<<

A huge dark shadow swooped down towards him, and John instinctively ducked before he had a chance to process that it was probably another trick from Choragos and Company. And a duck turned into a stumble over something he didn't see, and suddenly he was face down in some sort of puddle, and he felt a heavy pressure on his shoulders, and he couldn't *breathe*--

For a second he thought he'd made it out of the water, he could feel air on his face, but when he tried to breathe it wasn't air after all, and he coughed and choked and swallowed and tried to keep the sludge out of his lungs, and pushed against the weight on his back even though he knew it wouldn't help -- only it did, and he flopped onto his back on the damp stone wheezing for breath. Yellow light illuminated the rock walls around him and the stalactites coming down from the ceiling -- //Stalactites with a T for Top,// he thought muzzily. John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and was just starting to wonder how much sludge he'd managed to swallow when the world suddenly turned a thousand colors, a million voices roared in his ears, and he passed out.

# # # # #

Tacer held onto the doorframe with one hand and used it as a pivot point to swing around *back* into the tunnel to the tram terminus, ignoring the funny look from the sentry. He'd always gotten funny looks, a lot of funny looks, especially before he acquired his -- reputation -- in Lashan's division. //A reputation of which I am justifiably proud.// Besides, it wasn't as if the guard really had anything to complain about. Tacer hadn't, after all, leapt into the air and used to doorframe as a pivot point while kicking people, or *tried* to leap into the air and use the doorframe as a pivot point while kicking people. //I should try that, when there's no one in the way to actually kick...//

The space where he'd earlier heard the creche or very junior training unit drilling in unarmed combat had been occupied, the last time he passed, by a somewhat more advanced training unit receiving training in heteroclitic close combat, also known variously as 'the weird stuff,' 'odd tricks the combat trainer can do and wants to show off,' and 'combat tricks you'll probably never actually *need*, but we can still *do* them, and *use* them, and at least they're a reason Elite are elite'.

Of course, since Tacer had a variant on the twenty-third cluster substitution in his genes, he wasn't *completely* Elite, and some of the tricks he really *couldn't* do. It had been a great disappointment to him. But even so, the opportunity to watch heteroclitic combat gave some value to an otherwise wasted trip up.

He'd gone to the Asfod'l base medical facility with the intention of getting the supposed complicated preparations to work with the locals, only to be told by a very dubious junior medic that such preparations weren't just given to anyone who wanted them. "And why *do* you want them?" the medic had added. "We do *not* authorize that just to satisfy curiosity. What's your unit?"

Tacer had sighed and rolled his eyes. If *he'd* been stationed in a little base like this and a ship had arrived, he'd have been able to recognize the visitors by sight. Had the medic no curiosity? //Obviously no appreciation for curiosity. Some people...// "Well, actually, if you want to get technical I'm a unit-detached aide. In the Third Border Rotational Jurisdate. Except, obviously, I'm not there right now, for reasons which I cannot share at this time."

As Tacer expected, his assertion of the need for secrecy wasn't questioned by this extremely unimaginative medic. Unfortunately, the medic also remained adamant that the complicated preparations were restricted, and without orders from the base commander or the head medic, Tacer couldn't get them.

Kevel, frell him, was off talking to some other important base personnel, including the head medic, probably about the current situation in Elite space -- if not about Bastarrex, at least about the specifics of the border closing. That was fine, that was to be expected, but it meant neither Kevel nor the head medic were available to give orders upon request, so now Tacer was heading off for Center Prime without any of the recommended complicated preparations. //I mean, even if I can't talk to the locals, I can still talk to Crichton, Aeryn, and Chiana, right?// Besides, he'd never really had a chance before to look... metaphorically speaking... at interpsychic phenomena, and he was probably never going to get a better chance than this. So really, there was no reason not to go, was there?

Except...

//Frell.//

There was only one tram, wasn't there.

//I knew that.// Tacer looked at the empty track with dismay. //Now what?//

There was always cross-country hiking...

# # # # #

Spotting a patch of long grass ahead, Aeryn made for it, hoping it indicated solid higher ground and hence someplace for her to look around from. She wasn't lost, exactly, but Asfod'l was short on landmarks, it seemed to be getting darker -- maybe for real this time -- and she hadn't had any idea how she'd arrived at where she'd -- awakened. It couldn't have been too far, though, could it? It hadn't *seemed* like a very long time, not really... But then, nothing on Asfod'l was what it seemed. Or so it seemed.

The whispers were still there, in the back of her head, but they weren't directed at her anymore, which made it easier to ignore them. She tried to half-listen, though, in the hopes that she'd hear something else about John or Chiana. They were probably in all kinds of trouble. //I should never have let John go after Chiana alone.// Never. But for the moment, all she could do was look for Center Prime -- or at least some higher ground where she wouldn't be frelling *wading* -- and hope John and Chiana had gotten out of the whisperers' imaginary world as relatively painlessly as she had. As if that had any chance of being true. //Hang on, John. I'm coming.//

# # # # #

John returned to awareness gradually, but the noise was still almost enough to knock him out again. It was like he was in a school cafeteria -- no, that didn't go far enough. A school cafeteria squared. No, to the tenth. Crossed with a stock exchange. When he tried not to listen, much to his surprise it seemed to work, and the roar receded.

He frowned. Colors seemed to blossom in front of him with each thought, shading meaning and adding emphasis. John was pretty sure they weren't supposed to do that. And his headache wasn't supposed to be mauve, and colors should be associated figuratively with emotion, not literally. //Feeling colors... wonder if I managed to stumble into some of those psychoactive exports?// It almost made him afraid to open his eyes, but... //Nothing ventured, nothing gained.//

Except his eyes didn't seem to be registering weird colors, just a wet, dark cave with stalactites, stalagmites, and stuff growing on the walls, lit by actual guttering torches.

>>he wakes<<  
>>at last<<  
>>patience required<<

His Greek Chorus was multicolored, too -- and, somehow, they sounded... closer? //I am *not* getting a good feeling about this.//

And suddenly he wasn't looking at the cave any more. "No, John, neither am I."

>>!!!<<

"And he graces us with his presence," John drawled. "What brings you here, Harvey? Or brings you to bring me here? And if you're tryin' for Choragos, togas aren't Greek." The clone, looking about as silly as one would expect in a toga and laurel wreath, stood by one of the columns of a small Parthenon, arms folded, looking sulky. His words, when he spoke, left cool blue traces in the air.

"I'm here, John, because your *chorus* is no longer imprisoning me down beneath your subconscious," Harvey replied. "Something about which I was not happy, I hardly need say, John. I was here first."

>>irrelevant<<  
>>strange thing<<

"No, Harv, *I* was here first," John countered. Annoyance was orange. How interesting. "It's my head. An' it's not zoned for multiple residency--"

"Then I suggest you inform the 'chorus' of that."

"Inform the--" John broke off, swearing. "Don't tell me now *they're* tryin' to move in!" //Why me? Why does this always happen to me?// Did he project some sort of psychic 'Rooms for Rent' aura? //Nope, couldn't be, no one pays me any frelling rent--//

>>continued incomprehension<<  
>>patience required<<  
>>what is this 'rent'?<<

Harvey shook his head, and indicated the porch of the Parthenon, which was filled with large cardboard boxes covered in packing tape, and scattered furniture. "They're not *trying* to move in. They have moved in."

//Aw, *frell*!// John groaned, and was nearly swamped by a choking wave of purple-blue. He could almost *taste* it. "Great. Great. I suppose they're responsible for the psychedelic visual effects, too?"

Harvey frowned. "Not deliberately, I think, John, but it started when they did. It's very... distracting."

Ah, so Harvey was getting it, too. Sighing, John turned to look into the depths of the mini-Parthenon. //Whole new meaning to the temple of one's mind.// "Hey! Chorus! Choragos! I wanna talk to you!" Well, worth a shot -- they certainly talked enough already...

>>surprise<<

"Yes, you! I know you're in there!" John took a few steps forward. "Since this setting seems to be where you spend most of your time, maybe you can give me a little *explanation*!" Putting a hand to his belt, he was pleased to note he had a mental Winona to use in the mental confrontation. There were some advantages to this not-real deal -- he hadn't seen the real Winona since he'd left Moya... //Not now.// "Choragos!"

>>deliberation<<  
>>no volition<<  
>>volition<<  
>>agreed, converse with him<<  
>>should a frame be adopted?<<  
>>agreed<<  
>>question of appropriate frame?<<

Something *itched*, in his brain, as if someone-- "I *felt* that!"

>>repeated consternation<<

Finally, there was clear movement from the temple, as a man walked out onto the parch. He looked -- surprise, surprise -- like someone from Classical Greece. John sighed. "Choragos, I assume?"

"That... term will serve," the man said. He looked human or Sebacean, but that in this context that meant squat. Chances were good he'd been cobbled together from John's memory somehow -- in fact, he bore a certain resemblance to the tenth-grade English teacher who'd taught 'Antigone.'

"Great." John kept one hand on virtual Winona, and his eyes on Choragos. "You wanna explain what you're doing in my *head*?! Or are you just prancing in for the heck of it?"

"We seek an... arrangement of... mutual benefit," Choragos said slowly. He was probably digging the words for the concepts out of John's brain as he spoke. "We intend no harm. We... apologize for submerging you in the pool. Measures were not supposed to be... so drastic. We did not expect... how great an awareness you would have."

"You expected me to come quietly, you mean. So sorry to disappoint you. So why are you in my head? And how'd you get in here? And while you're at it, what are you?"

"We seek an arrangement of mutual benefit," Choragos repeated, almost *exuding* sincerity. "We are native to this world, and have no physical form--"

And despite the continued sincerity-feeling, John somehow knew that was a lie. "Dren."

"No physical form of... significance," Choragos allowed. "We can... interact with most incomers, however in order to affect the... things extant in matter, we need a... tangible form, with physical senses. In return, you receive... enhanced interpsychic capability."

//Is this 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' or 'The Exorcist'?// John groaned. They should never have come to Asfod'l. "An' all those people in Center Prime? Are they all vehicles for Greek Choruses?" He hesitated, thinking. "In fact, how many of them existed *at all*?"

"They existed," Choragos replied, sounding almost offended. "Though not... all are material."

//They existed in our heads, sure.// Wait... "Maike wasn't material, was she?" John demanded. "You just made her up to separate us-- Frell!" Aeryn. How could he not have thought of Aeryn, and Chiana. "My friends, where are my friends--" Red anger and spiky yellow-white concern obscured everything. He had to stop, almost flattened by the echo of his own emotions. When his vision cleared, he was back in the cave where he'd awakened, torches, stalagmites, weird pool, and all. //The pool, what was it about the pool...//

Right. The chorus had arranged for him to go face down in the pool, for some reason. And he didn't think it was to drown him. He hadn't felt any pain, anything at all like Scorpy's chip-insertion thingy or even like the tannot-negating *thing* on the eternally-Friday planet, but... he'd swallowed some of the water. John looked in the pool and didn't see much -- but then, Choragos and company had 'no physical forms of significance.'

//I think I've found their biological hazard. Frell.// Actually, that merited saying aloud. "Frell, frell, *frell*!" //And I think I've caught it.//

# # # #

~vi~

'Complicated preparations' might be restricted, but survival packs and equipment were there for the taking. The storage room wasn't even locked, and the layout, of course, was much like the layout of every other planetary field-operations equipment storage room he'd ever been in. It was kind of sad, really. Not that there was anything wrong with the arrangement, it was just... sad. The Generated in general, and the Elite in particular, could do with a little more creativity.

However, this was not the time for worrying about that. Tacer moved unerringly from the door to the rack of packs, then over to get food and water rations -- he hesitated over a water purifier, but tossed it in -- on to an emergency medical kit, thermal insulation blankets, and a few variable-intensity illuminators. Tacer paused by the illuminators, surprised to see a rack of night-vision goggles. Typically, unaugmented Elite night vision was good enough, but -- of course. A sign by the night vision goggles reminded him to take goggles if there was any chance he'd be in the secondary hemisphere during occlusion. Much as he would have liked to see that, Tacer supposed it was just as well both the base and Center Prime were on the side of Asfod'l facing *away* from Tynar.

He took a set of night vision goggles anyway, just in case.

All right, he just needed to get a terrain description, and possibly some heavier boots -- and to say something to Jool -- and he'd be on his way.

//Jool's Maker -- Ashkren -- is called Records... Records ought to have a topographical map.//

But when he got down to the room, no maps were in sight. This didn't bother him nearly so much as the fact that Jool and Records weren't in sight, either. //What the frell?//

# # # # #

Aeryn heard the locals before she saw them, a murmur of voices and occasional splashes from the marsh. Crouching as low as she could without submerging herself in the water, she tried to approach stealthily. She'd already had more than enough unpleasant surprises from Asfod'l, and wanted to avoid getting any more.

These particular locals didn't look terribly threatening, it was true. They just seemed to be... harvesting something. From the marsh. With fabric bags? Chances were it was food... or possibly one of Asfod'l's -- pharmacological exports. Of course, that could mean the harvesters weren't actually locals at all, but offworld entrepreneurs... especially since they were an oddly-assorted collection of species... Aeryn blinked suddenly. Was that a *Colartas*, in among the rest? //Whatever, just so long as they exist.// They were also heavily decked out with the so-called 'warding-cords,' which after her experiences with 'Maike' -- whatever Maike had been -- seemed like a good sign.

And if nothing else, maybe they could offer some directions.

Standing upright, Aeryn slogged towards the group. "Hello there!" she called.

The group turned to regard her warily, and reshuffled, some people with what appeared to be weapons moving to the front. Aeryn frowned. She saw some pulse weapons -- two pistols and an extremely beat-up rifle -- but most of them just seemed to have some sort of... spear? Lance? And they definitely included a Colartas.

//I hate this planet. Moon. I hate the planet *and* the moon.//

"It's a toolie," one of the harvesters hissed.

"No it's not," replied another. "Look at its hair. And it doesn't have any stripes. It's a Sebacean.

"Then why is it dressed like an--"

"Sshhh!"

As Aeryn approached, an orange-skinned... individual... from some species she couldn't identify moved to the front of the group. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm--" //oh, frell, can't use my real name -- might as well stay consistent// "--known as Aragorn. I'm passing through." Now, should she admit she was lost? It was a vulnerability, but-- "I got turned around. Could you point me towards Center Prime?"

The harvesters were briefly, intensely silent, exchanging long looks. Aeryn sort-of heard a faint buzz -- nothing like the whispers earlier, but a conversation just out of earshot... Finally they all turned to the Colartas, which scrutinized Aeryn intently for a few microts. The group appeared to relax.

"What were you doing out here?" asked the orange one, in a slightly less hostile tone. Apparently she'd passed some sort of test. "Didn't anyone tell you the marshes are dangerous?"

Aeryn hesitated, not wanting to admit she hadn't known she was in the marshes. "We were looking for information," she said carefully, "and were sent to see someone called Maike--"

This time the ripple that went through the harvesters seemed almost -- alarmed. "Who sent you?" the spokesman asked, again after a pause.

//This wasn't the conversation I was expecting. But frell, why should it be? I'm still on frelling Asfod'l...// "A Tanjan, at the supply depot. S'ravel."

Definitely alarmed. "S'ravel," murmured the spokesman. "They don't usually interfere with S'ravel. The toolies *notice* if the Tanjan acts strange."

They really needed a better mission briefing before going to Center Prime. //Toolies... they have to mean Elite. So they're implying that--// "They don't notice other people acting strange?" //Or whatever counts as strange in the Asfod'l region of hezmana.//

The spokesman laughed. "Oh, the toolies are deaf and blind, but they know *we* see things they can't, so they just assume everything is part of that. Even when it isn't normal. But Tanjans are half-deaf and half-blind, normally, so... they notice."

"Ah," Aeryn replied.

There was another lengthy, awkward pause, and she again got the impression that the harvesters were discussing the issue. Given Asfod'l's reputation for -- ha -- interpsychic phenomena, they probably *were* discussing the issue. Eventually, the spokesman looked at her. "You can come with us back to the city," he said. "But I'll warn you we need to finish this sweep."

Aeryn was not at all eager to accompany the group on a sweep, whatever that was, but she really didn't think she had a very good chance of finding Center Prime on her own. "All right."

"And you'll have to wear a warding-cord."

She sighed. "At this point -- I have no problem with that."

# # # # #

It wasn't so much the cacophony of whispers. After living with Harvey for... oh, too long--

"I resent that, John."

"Shut up, Harvey." John stumbled and ran into the tunnel wall again, tripped up by his own irritation. //Damn it!// And more frustration, and--

John stopped himself and took a deep breath, leaning on the wall. It wasn't the whispers. It was the way all of his emotions seemed to be amplified and echoed back at him. In Technicolor. He was starting to get a little more control over it, but... not enough.

>>offended puzzlement<<  
>>we can stop it<<  
>>we know how to cope with it<<  
>>we offer assistance<<

"I don't want your help," John said, trying to stay calm. "I want you *out* of my *head*!"

The Chorus subsided sulkily. They really didn't seem to understand why he wasn't leaping for joy. They seemed to think he should be *grateful*. //Like hell I'm grateful. The only good thing about this is it's pretty certain all that stuff Maike told us was invented to upset us.//

>>advantages<<  
>>many advantages<<  
>>learn to see<<  
>>will show<<  
>>we can show<<

"Not if I don't want to frellin' *see*!" he snapped, and ran into the wall again. Couldn't these... people... take a *hint*? //Obviously not...//

He waited, but there was nothing from the Chorus but a low background murmur, as if it was conferring with itself. They were probably planning their next line of argument. Trying to enjoy the peace while it lasted, John kept going. He was hoping to find his way out of the maddeningly identical caves -- and he supposed it had just been a matter of time until he ended up somewhere that use bioluminescent fungus for light -- locate the others, and go see if the Elite had any kind of treatment for the... chorus-parasites. No, *whisperers*, they called them. //They can grow new spines, they gotta be able to deal with a few parasites...//

>>not parasites<<  
>>provide benefits<<

//Damn. Knew it was too good to last.// John sighed. "I don't want your benefits, I want--"

>>provide assistance<<  
>>one offer<<  
>>incorrect direction<<  
>>leave the caves<<  
>>*that* way<<

John stopped. "Are you telling me I'm going the wrong way?"

>>yes<<  
>>yes<<  
>>that way<<

And he could feel what direction the Chorus meant, too. It was unsettling, but... //Let's face it. I'm lost.//

>>you are<<

"Shut up."

# # # #

~vii~

John walked out of the caves into a very different Center Prime than the one he'd left. He wasn't at all surprised by the disappearance of the mazelike alleyways -- those had probably been an illusory trap from the start, and he expected most of the time he'd thought he'd been in the alleys he'd actually been in the caves -- but... the city was *alive*. With, he presumed, the Chorus's senses, the shabby, gloomy little one-horse town was transformed into an impressive, if bizarre, city, with towering fantastical buildings and strange, brightly colored flying things. He wasn't sure what the flying things were, not quite birds, not quite aircraft -- //and certainly not Superman -- no comments from the Chorus, please// -- but they were pretty, he had to admit. The sky seemed to glow a deep blue -- like Tynar.

"John!" cried a cacophony of voices, and he looked back down to see--

"*Oh* no," he said. "*Enough* already with the mind-frelling! If you expect me to believe--" Breaking off, he waved a hand at the assemblage before him. It wasn't just "Aeryn," "Chiana," "Tacer," and "Jool," which he might possibly have bought, but *also* D'Argo, Rygel, Crais, Stark, *Zhaan*, *Scorpius*, DK, his sister Olivia, and-- "No, no, no! *More* than enough people have done the pretend-to-be-John's-dad thing already!" He found himself reaching for his pulse pistol, even though he *knew* it wouldn't do any good. "Stop that! Go away! And if anyone out there is pretending to be my mom, they'd *better* have stopped by the time I--"

He had to stop then, flattened once more by the emotional feedback, red anger with several other swirling undertones. Undercolors. John took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Dammit, he was just so *sick* of the frelling mind-frells! And while it was occasionally convenient for the the mind-frellers to announce their presence by trotting out something or someone from Earth, it was--

//They don't even look real,// he thought. //Even if it wasn't such a -- ridiculous gathering, I wouldn't have thought they were real. They seem -- hollow, somehow...//

>>assist<<  
>>provide assistance<<

Now that just sounded *openly* smug.

>>can identify<<

"Thanks loads," John muttered. "However, I didn't really need your help to tell this bunch was fake when they have -- hell, they have *Pilot* wanderin' around in the back! Did they all just grab the first image not already bein' used, or what? Sheesh."

>>away!<<  
>>all, away<<  
>>previous presence<<  
>>seek elsewhere<<

//Oh, warning off interlopers 'cause they got me first, how nice.// Determined to ignore the Chorus *and* its competition as much as possible, John closed his eyes and walked forward. //No one is there. No one is there.// Sure enough, any resistance he encountered just... crumbled away, and when he opened his eyes again the mob was gone.

>>assistance provided<<  
>>caused departure<<  
>>many advantages<<

"Oh, shut up." John looked around, trying figure out exactly where he was. Was that the depot? It was hard to be sure. There seemed to be more people around, too, now that there weren't illusions blocking his view. These people were unfamiliar, and felt... deep, rather than hollow. //So, are these people real?//

>>reiterate<<  
>>all are real<<  
>>not all material<<

//All right, forget the existential debate.// "If you... Chorus... want to be useful, tell me how to find Aeryn and Chiana." John looked around, but none of the people passing by seemed to care that he was having a conversation with himself. //Frell, maybe they can tell it isn't with myself.//

>>simple<<  
>>quite simple<<  
>>seek their minds<<

As if he knew how to do *that*. "A little more *detail*?"

The Chorus did not reply at once, but he 'heard' the most *annoying* sort of murmur at the back of his brain. And since the universe would end if he got one *microt* of peace in his own head, Harvey took advantage of the Chorus's distraction to pop up to contribute his two cents.

"John, I really must object. My advice is worth far more than a mere two cents."

John sighed as Center Prime was abruptly replaced by a conference room -- in fact, it looked like the IASA conference room, where he'd sat through many a long, boring meeting. "Assumin' you actually have any this time."

Harvey tsk'd and folded his arms. He was still dressed up in the toga, despite the room. "I was merely going to suggest further exploration of the abilities this -- situation -- may have given you." He indicated the pulled-down overhead screen. "May I have the first slide, please?"

"I thought you didn't like sharin' space with the Chorus," John pointed out. "Are they nice, friendly new neighbors -- or have you just always wanted to be a mind reader? *That* sounds like Scorpy. Well, tough. You like the Chorus so much, you can leave when they do."

"I hope you're not going to claim you've never wished you could read minds, John," Harvey replied. The first slide read ~Potential Uses~.

"Occasionally wanting to know what people are thinking is not the same as welcoming the company of a chorus of psychic parasites," John retorted.

Harvey smiled. "There, you've anticipated my first point." ~++Tell what's on your friends' minds~ sailed up from the bottom of the screen, followed by a picture of D'Argo at his most uncommunicative.

//Oh, god, it's a damned PowerPoint presentation.// John groaned. "Harvey--"

"Not to neglect my *next* point," the clone continued blithely. ~++Avoid being tricked by your enemies~ sailed onto the screen from the right, bumping the picture of D'Argo out of the way. This one had a little slide show within a slide show underneath it, going through, John presumed, a sampling of deceitful enemies. "Realize how useful this could be, John."

"Harvey," John said warningly.

"Oh, but you'll love this next one!" ~++Tell what Crais is *really* up to~ dropped down from the top and bounced a few times before settling into place. The mini-slide show was replaced by a picture of a maniacal Crais.

//Now that's actually tempting.// But -- "Not worth the parasites, Harv. That's if that even is *possible*."

>>all that<<  
>>all that is possible<<

"And they're back." John shook his head, and the conference room, and PowerPoint presentation, mercifully disappeared. The Technicolor rerelease of Center Prime surrounded him once more. At least some of it was probably more real than the conference room... "Did you have something useful to contribute?"

>>wished to locate others<<

"Yes..."

>>can locate others<<  
>>other advantages<<  
>>Harvey entity said<<  
>>tell what others think<<  
>>will demonstrate<<  
>>just go offworld<<  
>>offworld<<

"Are you offering help or trying to get me to loose you on an unsuspecting galaxy?"

>>assist<<  
>>simple<<  
>>look<<  
>>like this<<

And then the roar from when he'd first woken up was back, worse than ever. John staggered and nearly fell, but he could... maybe... just barely hear Aeryn's voice, lost somewhere in the clamor, before it disappeared again.

>>regret<<  
>>unprepared for magnitude<<  
>>you must practice<<

"Yeah, and how long will *that* take? That was Aeryn I heard, wasn't it?"

>>you know others<<

"Ri-ight." Aeryn, or another trick from his Chorus or some other bunch of whisperers. //However, I don't have any better ideas at the moment.// "Just how am I supposed to--"

>>caution!<<  
>>behind!<<

He spun, and managed to dive out of the way of the... herd of many-legged, multicolored critters thundering down the street. John sat up and looked after them, brushing dust off his Elite fatigues. "Now those I'm *sure* aren't real!"

>>all are real<<  
>>simply not material<<

"I know, I know..."

# # # # #

"Well, I don't know about witches," the elderly harvester had said on the way to Center Prime, "but the whisperers, certainly. Everyone needs to watch out for the whisperers."

By the time the group was headed back towards the city, such as it was, Aeryn had felt she had the measure of the harvesters well enough to venture a few questions -- and she'd known at whom to direct them. The most talkative of the harvesters was a small, wrinkled male who claimed to be over two hundred cycles old -- but in the very short period since she'd met him, he'd also claimed to be a retired general, royal prince, and famous chef, so she wasn't inclined to take his stories about his background seriously. Unreliable as he might be, though, he didn't hesitate to answer any question, and certainly wasn't at all bothered by Aeryn's inquiry about the purpose of the warding-cords.

"And they don't really keep the whisperers from talking to you, neither," he had gone on. "Just away from you, or that's the idea."

"It doesn't always work?" Aeryn had asked, unsurprised. At this point she'd be more surprised if something *did* work as advertised.

"No. That's why we have Mot there along, see." The man had indicated the Colartas. "He can *smell* the whisperers on a person. You can't completely avoid 'em, at least half the natives have 'em, not counting the toolies, but you have to be careful. No knowing when the whisperers might decide they want you, too. And we know they're out here in the marshes..."

Whatever the whisperers were, the group relaxed somewhat once they were back on solid ground. Aeryn had been right, almost; they were after components for drugs, but the 'interpsychic' kind rather than the psychoactive. She gathered that the marshes and other waterways of Asfod'l were the main source of raw materials for some drug that greatly enhanced the user's mental abilities. The psychoactive fungus were elsewhere.

Back in the city, the harvesters headed for their ship, while Aeryn stopped at a convenient large rock to sit down and empty the water out of her boots. //Finally.// Of course, now her *feet* were probably completely waterlogged... and she had to put the same still-wet boots back on... but there was nothing to be done about that, except wring out her socks, too.

Now what? When they'd left the nonexistent city Speaker's house, Chiana had been heading for the supply depot and Crichton had been following her. But it wouldn't surprise her to learn they never got there, and...

...there was something at the back of her mind...

...almost like...

>>could try for this one<<  
>>difficult<<

"Frell!" she shouted, standing up with only one boot on. Whatever the whisperers were, they were back.

>>persistent awareness<<

Frelling right she was aware. The whispers were only getting clearer, too. //I hate this planet.//

>>also wish to leave<<  
>>inadequate room<<  
>>inadequate hosts<<  
>>partners<<

Somehow, she didn't think she'd been supposed to hear that. //Hosts. I do *not* like the sound of 'hosts.'//

And now one of her feet was muddy in addition to wet. At least she hadn't managed to cut it on anything. Aeryn sighed and sat down. No sense running off in literally one boot.

Foot more-or-less (more less than more) clean and boot back on, she looked around. The supply depot was probably the best bet, even if its supposedly reliable proprietor had sent them to see Maike. At least John and Chiana both knew where it was and could find it -- at least, she *hoped* they could find it--

"*Aeryn*!"

She was almost knocked off her feet, but regained her balance just in time. "Be a little more careful!" she admonished, extricating herself. "Jool, what the *frell* are you doing here?"

# # # #

~viii~

One of the side drawbacks of hosting the Chorus, John reflected very, very quietly, was that the need to deal with them brought Harvey to the surface of his mind much too much. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Harvey was being driven by some old dream of Scorpius's of being able to read people's minds without need for bulky Aurora Chairs or that sort of pesky thing.

And much as John hated to admit it, the experience of dealing with Harvey had given him the idea for how to manage the deafening mental 'noise' which he encountered every time he tried to 'look' for Aeryn and Chiana. Harvey had not, however, contributed to the construction of the mental helicopter in which they were currently circling Center Prime, and had been banished from the mental cockpit for being too much of a backseat driver.

The Chorus had been very interested, though, and he suspected it had pitched in. John wondered if the copter was visible to other psychically gifted residents of Center Prime. Certainly the strange flying things were changing course to avoid them.

From above -- or whatever the appropriate descriptor was -- he could see several different... types... of people. It took a little while to get used to apparently seeing people right through buildings, but once he thought about it, some definitely seemed -- brighter -- than others.

>>more real<<  
>>bright ones more real<<

//I guess that makes sense.// Except... The *buildings* didn't seem to look any different based on their reality -- the city Speaker's hall wasn't nearly so impressive compared to the other virtual buildings as it had been compared to the mundane real ones, but it was definitely there. "Say, Chorus, is that place actually used for anythin' besides foolin' gullible visitors?"

>>Speaker's hall?<<  
>>not to deceive<<  
>>to communicate<<  
>>form required<<  
>>visitors require<<  
>>authority<<

Whatever *that* meant. "Uh-huh." Well, he hated to do it, but-- "Choragos, get in here and give me a comprehensible answer!"

Choragos appeared at once, still kitted up for a day at the agora and looking ridiculous stooped over in the helicopter cockpit. Hopefully this meant the Chorus hadn't done any more digging in John's memories... but he wouldn't count on it.

>>not digging<<  
>>observation only<<

"*You* be quiet," John ordered the rest of the Chorus, then turned to Choragos. "All right, now what were you sayin' about the city Speaker?"

Choragos blinked at him owlishly. "The... purpose of having Maike is not to... deceive, merely to communicate."

"I got that part, I just don't buy it. But please, don't let me stop you. Go on."

"We find that... many incomers wish... to interact with a person of... authority. Maike serves to be that person."

John nodded. "So... whoever wants to talk to offworlders gets to be Maike for the day."

"Yes. Yes, that... will serve."

"Terrific. But you still haven't answered my question. Do you use that -- building, for lack of a better word -- virtual building -- for anything besides fooling, or communicating with, gullible visitors? Anything *besides* Maike?"

"Oh." Choragos's face went blank and slack. Apparently the Chorus hadn't yet bothered to pick an expression for thinking about stuff.

>>there is use<<  
>>sometimes<<  
>>to meet<<  
>>using frames<<

"Look, you've got Choragos here, will you please talk to me through that?" John demanded.

>>consideration!<<

That was reasonable, unfortunately. "Fine, but all this whisperin' is kinda distracting when I'm tryin' to fly a helicopter."

Harvey poked his head forward. "John, do you even know how to fly a helicopter?"

"More than you do, Harv, get lost." Besides, it was *his* mental helicopter, so if he wanted the controls to work like the Farscape One's, than they were damn well gonna work like the Farscape One's. Plus a button for 'hover'. "Choragos?"

"Sometimes we meet using... frames, such as this, rather than... perception only. Sometimes, it is in the... hall."

"I see." That might account for why the hall was still there, but there was no sign of Maike. //There's also no sign of Aeryn, or Chiana. Dammit, I know *they're* real, where *are* they?//

He circled over the city Speaker's hall and flew back towards the barely-visible supply depot, trying to keep one eye on the ground and the other on the air traffic. They had to be *somewhere*. He wouldn't accept any other possibility.

"John, maybe if you allowed me to fly while you looked, or vice versa--"

"Harvey, for the tenth time--"

>>startlement<<  
>>alarm<<  
>>PANIC<<

John recoiled from the sudden noise. "Whoa! Chorus, what the frell is--" And then he was tossed against the controls as the helicopter was seized in the talons of some sort of huge... flying... thing. "Should've included virtual seatbelts... *Chorus*!"

>>panic<<

"That isn't very helpful--"

>>>ANGER<<<  
>>>REPROACH<<<

He was almost flattened by the volume of those 'whispers,' and somehow he knew they weren't from the Chorus accompanying *him*. "Oh, this is not good."

>>panic<<  
>>panic<<

"Look, you stupid Chorus, you got me into this--"

>>>SATISFACTION<<<

Harvey was in the cockpit, wearing a parachute pack. "John, I must urge you to abandon this construction and return to your normal consciousness immediately!"

"What do you think I'm tryin' to do!" John yelled back, then the flying thing's talons tightened and he knew no more.

# # # # #

The Asfod'l base conference room was just as predictable as everything else about the place. Tacer hadn't had any difficulty locating it, and no one made any objection to his lying in wait for Kevel just outside. Well, actually more leaning-on-the-wall in wait, and fuming. He really needed to talk to the base commander.

As a rule, Tacer tried to maintain a positive outlook on life, but what with missing friends, limited transport, and out-of-reach commanders, the situation on Asfod'l wasn't just worrying, it was getting outright *annoying*. //And it means something when *I'm* saying that.//

At long last -- *very* long last -- the conference broke up, and the base's small complement of important personnel left the room, scattering. Kevel was one of the last ones out, looking tired, and also a little startled to see him.

"Did you need something, Tacer?" Kevel asked. "I realize the meeting was long, but--"

"Well, there are a number of things I'm worried about, but most recently, your Ashkren seems to have run off with my Interion -- or possibly the other way around, I guess. And the rest of my friends aren't back. What is going *on*, Kevel?"

# # # # #

Aeryn was forced to shake Jool before the Interion would stop babbling. "Slow down and tell me what is wrong!" she ordered.

"It -- it's -- you could all be in terrible danger!" Jool cried. "I talked to Records -- there are these -- these *things* -- they want to get off the planet! The moon! Here!"

That information would have been considerably more useful had it arrived several arns earlier. Still, maybe Jool at least had a few details about what exactly the whisperers were. //And that they want to get off Asfod'l -- that's new.// Always assuming they weren't dealing with something *entirely* new... "What things? Do you mean the -- the whisperers?"

"The interpsychic protozoa!"

Well, the interpsychic part fit, anyway. "Yes, but what *are* the... interpsychic protozoa?" Interpsychic fit the whisperers. And protozoa... This sort of thing was far from Aeryn's area of expertise, but protozoa sounded like it could be that mysterious biological hazard. //Frell.// "Jool, tell me-- No. First, how did you get here? Is Tacer with you?"

"No. I looked, but I couldn't *find* him." Jool pouted briefly. "Records brought me over in a surface transport, dropped me off. After she told me about the protozoa I realized -- the frelling Elite don't understand this at all. They don't understand how dangerous it is! *They* aren't susceptible! They could have them growing in the middle of their base and they wouldn't--"

This was going to take all day. "Jool, I said slow down. You aren't making any sense!"

The Interion managed a deep breath. "The interpsychic protozoa. They're native to Asfod'l, but the Ashkren modified them, only -- it got out of control. They're strong enough to influence people -- they do it all the time -- and they can -- can just *snatch* people -- and *infect* people. Records said they do *that* all the time, too."

The whisperers had mentioned 'hosts.' Yes, it was probably safe to assume that biological hazard, interpsychic protozoa, and whisperers were all the same entities.

"As it happens, Jool," Aeryn said, "we're already trying to head back to the Elite base." //And off this frelling moon.// "We just need to find Crichton and Chiana. You haven't seen either of them, have you?"

"Well--" Jool faltered. "I thought I saw Crichton, back at the other side of the town... but he looked very strange, and he yelled at me to go away, and something about mind-frelling, and he had his pulse pistol, and..."

And Jool, sensibly if not bravely, had gone away. "Frell," Aeryn snarled under her breath. It sounded as if the whisperers might have gotten to John already -- and he might not be coping very well. Hardly surprising. "All right, Jool, I'm going to go look for Crichton. You can come help me or look for Chiana. She was heading for the supply depot... such as it is... but I don't know if she got there."

"That isn't much of a choice!"

>>take this one?<<  
>>hesitation<<  
>>other still perceives<<

Aeryn glared at her.

"I'll come with you." How Jool managed to flounce while wearing Elite fatigues was what Crichton would call a mystery of the ages. "I'm not going to go around on my own here any more than I have to."

That was just as well. Aeryn needed Jool to show her exactly where Crichton had been -- and besides, Aeryn wasn't terribly sanguine about Jool's chances alone in Center Prime, either, especially given the latest whispers from the interpsychic protozoa, or whatever you wanted to call them.

Center Prime looked different, now that she was no longer being 'encouraged' to see it as a frozen ice planet, Aeryn observed as they walked quickly through town. She could see the hills that bordered the town on the side opposite the marshes -- covered in low scrub and what might be large fungus, not snow or ice. It also felt different, of course, warmer and more humid. That didn't make Center Prime any less dingy, though.

"It was around here somewhere," Jool said. "Near the hills. One of these alleys, I think." She wrinkled her nose in disdain. "I hate this place."

Aeryn ignored her and walked from alley to alley, looking. There were a few locals who might have been sampling the moon's psychoactive fungus, or possibly talking to the whisperers, some sort of stray animal which snarled at her... //I hate to agree with Jool, but I hate this place.// Everything about it was dreary, dark, irrational, and--

If it weren't for the blue Elite fatigues, she might have missed him.

Aeryn dashed into the alley, stepping over a drunk and ignoring the garbage piles. "John!" He didn't respond. She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbed his shoulders, shook him. "Frell you, Crichton, answer me!" He was breathing, at least he was breathing, but -- why wouldn't he wake up? "Jool, get over here!" Aeryn barked. She couldn't find any head injury. His clothing was damp and muddy, as if he'd had his own close encounter with the marshes, or at least some sort of puddle. She couldn't find any injuries at all. "*Wake up*, John."

Jool was picking her way delicately through the garbage. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," Aeryn bit out. "He doesn't seem to be hurt, but--"

"Maybe it's the mind-frell thing he mentioned?" Jool asked, kneeling to examine Crichton herself.

"No doubt." //It's fixable. There will be a way to fix this.// He could not, *could not* die because of such a stupid, petty thing as getting manipulated into splitting up by a bunch of-- "Probably your protozoa, too."

"They aren't *my* protozoa!" Jool cried indignantly.

"Fine, the *Ashkren's* frelling protozoa!" Aeryn tried to calm herself. "We can't leave him here on the ground."

"I should think not!" Jool agreed. "Maybe we can find some sort of travelers' hostel..."

Somehow, Aeryn doubted that any such hostels on Asfod'l would meet Jool's standards, even now, but it wasn't a bad idea. "If there is one, it will be near the spaceport," she said. "You take Crichton's feet."

This had to be fixable...

# # # #

~ix~

The quality of the hostel and Jool's reaction to it were both pretty much as Aeryn had anticipated. //Good thing I had her take his feet.// But it was cheap, and a "no-questions-asked" place if she'd ever seen one. The proprietor didn't blink at three non-Elite in Elite uniforms, one unconscious and carried by the other two, but just took their barter items and directed them to a room.

Inside, they checked John again for injuries. He seemed to have a few bumps, bruises, and scrapes, but nothing that would account for unconsciousness. It was something more insidious, then, probably to do with the mysterious protozoa -- but hopefully not life-threatening.

Not that this meant they had any idea how to treat it...

Aeryn spent about another half-arn trying to wake John up -- calling, shaking, slapping, dumping water on his face, all to no avail -- before reluctantly deciding that his condition wasn't going to change in the immediate future, and she really should be trying to find Chiana, who might be in all kinds of trouble.

"Jool, I'm going to go look for Chiana," she announced, standing up. "Are you armed...? Here, take Crichton's pulse pistol."

Jool stared at her. "What? You can't -- I can't guard him by myself! What if the room's attacked? What if he wakes up and doesn't recognize me?"

//All right, considering the whole 'mind-frell' thing, she has a point with that one.// Fortunately... Aeryn dug through her pack -- and it was a good thing *it* was waterproof, wasn't it... There at the bottom, under the clothes, was an Elite needler gun, with blue needles -- the sedative. "Here," she said, handing the needler to Jool. "If he's irrational, you can shoot him with this."

"But -- I -- *Aeryn*!" Jool actually did stomp her foot as Aeryn walked out, closing the door behind her. A few paces down the corridor, she heard a muffled, "Frell!"

//She'll be fine as soon as she stops panicking.// Now, *how* was she going to find Chiana? //The supply depot, of course.// It wouldn't hurt to ask if the Nebari had been back. Aeryn wondered if it would do any good to ask S'ravel why he'd sent them to see someone who apparently didn't exist, and decided it probably wouldn't. If she was really unlucky he wouldn't remember them at all. //I don't need him to remember me, just Chiana.//

Center Prime was small enough that she had no trouble finding the supply depot again. So far as Aeryn could tell, it didn't look any different -- except that, yes, the whole place did seem to be marginally lighter. She wondered if that was on account of tampering by the whisperers, or if Asfod'l was just reaching what passed for its daytime.

>>so suspicious<<  
>>creates difficulty<<  
>>blameless<<  
>>excessive perception<<

"Go aw--" Aeryn started, then broke off. What was she doing, turning into Crichton? Even if she heard voices in her head, that was no reason to start talking back to them! Gritting her teeth, she entered the depot.

The Tanjan S'ravel, very recognizable in magenta tunic, approached quickly. "Honored customer. Can I help you?"

"Have you seen" -- frell, what *was* the name John had given Chiana? -- "the Nebari girl that was here with us earlier at all since then?" Aeryn asked bluntly. She didn't have time for niceties.

"No, honored customer," S'ravel replied, soundly slightly surprised. "Has something happened to her?"

"I don't know. She said she was coming here, and I haven't seen her since." True, if truncated. "Is there anyone else I might ask?"

"Well... I suppose the portmaster." He glanced dubiously at her clothing. "And there's always the toolies -- the Elite -- but they don't come down here much."

//No, and if I could get quickly back there I would already be asking them, or at least getting Tacer to ask them. Not that I trust the Elite as a whole much more than anyone else on this frelling miserable moon...//

Someone tapped her shoulder, and Aeryn narrowly avoiding pulling her pulse pistol in the face of the harmless-looking elderly local who'd come up behind her. "If you're missing a friend," the woman chirped, "you should ask the Witch for help."

"The... Witch," Aeryn said. "The last time I was here, I was told that 'witches' 'made people do things' and needed to be warded against. Now I am told to go to a 'witch' for help. Which version, if either, should I believe?"

S'ravel snorted. "Neither, honored customer. The locals have these strange ideas--"

"The Tanjan understands nothing, traveler," interrupted the local. "If you think your friend is lost to the whisperers, you must seek the Witch."

On one side, she wasn't currently inclined towards trusting any of the locals, at all. On the other side, apparently S'ravel had been being manipulated by the whisperers, or something, despite his Tanjan presumed-lesser-susceptibility, and he didn't seem to realize it. So maybe... "Just how should I go about seeking this witch?" Aeryn asked the local.

# # # # #

"Crichton, answer me! Wake up, John!"

The voice seemed very, very distant, but he thought it might be Aeryn. So she'd found him. Wasn't that always how it went?

"John!"

He'd better see about waking up, though. She sounded really upset. Just... very, very far away, and getting farther...

"Crichton!"

//That wasn't Aeryn.//

"Crichton, get up!"

>>panic<<

//Harvey. And the Chorus. Joy.// John pried his eyes open, to find himself lying in the ruins of the helicopter, which seemed to have been dropped into a... into some place apparently filled with giant metal shrubbery. There were more strange flying things overhead, but happily none of them seemed to be paying any attention to them, and the virtual helicopter didn't seem to be planning on virtually exploding. That was about the extent of the good news, though. He hurt all over, he was dizzy, and... //Damn.// He was still inside his head. Or outside his head. Not in the normal relation to his head. John tried to sit up, and discovered his left arm wouldn't support him. "Ow!" It hurt, too.

>>panic<<

"Shut up, you useless parasites!" Harvey snarled. He was also sitting in the helicopter ruins, and didn't appear to be in much better shape than John.

>>panic<<

"Yeah, that isn't... ouch... helping," John put in, trying again to sit up, this time with more success. //I don't wanna know what it means to have a mental broken arm.// "Either make yourselves useful and explain to me what hit us, or be quiet."

"John, I don't think appealing to the... Chorus... for answers is--"

"If you're going to tell me whatever hit us was after them, don't waste your breath. I got that," John replied. In addition to his possibly-broken arm and his headache, he seemed to have a nasty gash in his leg. "Still think keepin' them is a good idea, Harv?"

"That's unfair, John."

"How, exactly?" John wondered how much control he could exert here -- how much it was still a mental construct. //Won't know if I don't test it--// A helicopter ought to have a first aid kit. Maybe even a little more than first aid. Such a kit ought to be somewhere handy, say, under the pilot's seat...

He looked. No first aid kit. "Frell." As he watched, there was a -- flicker -- but it disappeared quickly.

>>panic<<

"You know, that is *really* becomin' annoying!" John snapped. Pity the Chorus didn't have any sort of embodiment at the moment... it could probably have done with a good solid slap. //Okay, so no first aid kit.// He should still be able to rig up something to support his arm, though. Good thing he was right-handed. //Maybe my jacket...?//

"John--"

"Harvey, if *you* want to do something useful, try to track down that damn Chorus. Ow! Dammit--" This *wasn't* his real body. It *really* shouldn't hurt this much.

"You might have noticed I'm not exactly unscathed myself, John," Harvey replied petulantly.

"Poor baby," John snapped back. It was true, though, that the neural clone hadn't regained his feet, and even seated appeared to be leaning on a helicopter fragment for support. At least Harvey seemed to have taken his share of the damage. But then, he might be faking.

After several extremely painful maneuvers, John managed to make a sort of makeshift sling out of his jacket. That accomplished, he staggered to his feet. Only... now what?

Well, he wanted to get back to his body. A step in the right direction might be *finding* his body.

John limped a little ways away from the crashed helicopter, and looked around. His half-dazed description of his surroundings as giant metal shrubbery still seemed accurate. A little farther away, that gave way to... giant fluorescent mushrooms. In the other direction, he caught a glimpse of tall, glossy black spires. //Asfod'l seen with the Chorus is even stranger than Asfod'l seen without the Chorus.// Unfortunately, he didn't see *anything* familiar -- no sign of any of Center Prime's more mundane buildings, or even the 'non-material' ones he'd seen earlier. //Frell.//

"John!" Harvey called. "I've found... Choragos."

Well, that was something. //He makes himself useful. Incredible. And he's more mobile than he was claiming. Very credible.// John quickly limped back to the copter wreckage, locating Harvey on the other side of it. Choragos was hunkered down in the shadow of a piece of fuselage. "What are you doin'?" John asked.

>>panic<<

"And *stop that*!"

>>possess reason to panic<<

"Better. But not much." John started to bend down, thought better of it, and sat on the nearest non-sharp piece of metal shrubbery. "Talk to me, Choragos. What hit us?"

>>panic<<  
>>must think<<  
>>truth?<<

Harvey scowled. "It had *better* be the truth."

>>reluctance<<  
>>panic<<  
>>panic<<

"*Not* that again..."

"It was... an enforcer," Choragos said grudgingly. "It is... not usually permitted to enter... arrangements without... consultation with the Many."

John frowned. "And by 'arrangements' I gather you mean infecting unsuspectin' visitors."

"We are not parasites," Choragos said firmly.

"Uh-huh, yeah, right." No point in pursuing *that* argument at the moment. "Whatever. So this enforcer-thing, pursuing you, just took me down as collateral damage?"

"Don't I count?" demanded Harvey.

"No." John sighed. Unfortunately, cooperation with Harvey would probably be necessary to get back to his body, assuming it was even possible. //It had *better* be possible.// Figuring out where they were would be a start. Of course... "Choragos, is that thing still lookin' for us?" John snorted. "My mistake, lookin' for *you*?"

"Unknown."

>>panic<<  
>>panic<<

"I *told* you to *stop* that..." If the whatever-it-was was looking for them, they needed to move. //Or at least, I need to move. If I thought it was possible I'd happily leave the Chorus here.// Even if the whatever-it-was wasn't looking for them, he wasn't going to find his body standing around doing nothing. John looked around, tossing a mental coin. //Fluorescent mushrooms or giant needles...?// "Mushrooms it is," he said aloud. "Harv, Choragos, you coming?"

# # # # #

When Records's returning surface transport was detected, Tacer made his way at once to the landing pad, though Kevel insisted firmly that he not try to talk to Records until Kevel said he could. This left Tacer pacing around one of the floodlight supports, watching as the transport landed and powered down, and Kevel went over.

Tacer stopped pacing and leaned against the light pole to observe. He'd seen Records earlier, of course, when he went to talk to Jool, but even so -- a real, in-person Ashkren. It was... weird.

And Kevel hadn't said anything about not *listening* to the conversation. He edged closer, trying to hear Kevel's words. They were pitched deliberately low, but--

"--what you thought you were *doing*, sending the Interion off alone to Center Prime. Whatever made you think that was a good idea?" Kevel demanded. "Especially if you thought something might have happened to the others, which I still do not completely understand--"

"It's an interpsychic thing," Records replied. "I'm sorry, but you really can't completely appreciate it no matter how I explain."

"Try!"

Records shook her head. "The biological hazard poses problems for non-Generated which you don't have to worry about--"

"I *know* that!"

//I don't know why Kevel wanted me to keep out of the conversation... he seems to be getting rather worked up on his own.// Not that Tacer was particularly happy himself. //I knew I should have gone with them.// He sighed.

//I wonder just how mad Kevel would get if I just took off with that surface transport?//

# # # #

~x~

The Banik girl who answered the door of the 'Witch's apartment had tried to offer Aeryn tea, but Aeryn had firmly declined; she wasn't eating anything in Center Prime besides her own rations. Unfortunately, this left her sitting in the extremely small antechamber with nothing to do but contemplate what a stupid idea this was. Hadn't she had *enough* of mystics? The real ones were even worse than the frauds.

Had she been drinking tea, there probably would have been time for several cups before the Banik girl -- housekeeper, maybe -- finally admitted her to the inner sanctum, where a heavily robed figure sat in a chair opposite a stool. The room had only one window, which had been boarded up, letting in very little of the already dim Asfod'l light, and artificial illumination was limited to a frelling *candle*, on a small table beside the robed person.

"Please come in," said the Witch, and indicated the stool. "Sit."

Aeryn did, somewhat stiffly. "I'm here to ask about--"

"A Nebari girl you think may be lost to the whisperers," the Witch interrupted. "Yes, I know."

//You'll have to do a bit better than that if you want to impress me. That much the local probably *told* you while I was waiting out there.// But she replied only, "Yes."

The Witch nodded. "I may be able to help. Nebari have... distinctive minds. How long has this one been away from the homeworld?"

"Ah..." Aeryn was slightly startled to realize she wasn't quite sure. "I'm not certain. At least five cycles, more? She... doesn't conform to Nebari standards, if that's what you're asking. Will that be a problem?"

"It shouldn't be," said the Witch, nodding again, thoughtfully. She, or he, extended a pale hand to pick up what appeared to be a mug of tea from the table with the candle, and took a long drink. The dim lighting in the room still made it impossible to see the Witch's face. "Early patterns usually remain somewhere inside, if you're observant enough to find them."

The silence seemed to draw out an inordinately long time before Aeryn broke. "Can you find her?"

"I should be able to. What do you have to pay?"

This ground, at least, Aeryn was only too familiar with. Fortunately *certain persons* had not been able to resist a little looting before they escaped Bastarrex, so they were well supplied with trading valuables, if not actual currency. She wasn't able to argue the Witch's price down very much, but did maintain that there had to be results before she'd pay more than a token fee.

"Very well," said the Witch. "I will try to find the Nebari. It may take some time. Would you like some tea, while you wait?"

"No. Thank you." Given everything else on this moon, it was probably drugged.

The Witch said nothing, but merely seemed to stare off into the distance for a long time, while Aeryn fought to control her impatience. She didn't like leaving Crichton helpless, with only Jool to keep watch on him, and the longer she was gone the more anxious she got. And...

>>reluctance<<  
>>resentment<<  
>>ours<<

...there they were again. Frell. Only...

>you *will* inform me<

//That one was different.// Aeryn glanced at the Witch, wondering.

>>unfair<<  
>>*ours*<<

>can locate without your help<  
>could report your activities<  
>ask again for information<

>>resentment<<

Since the Witch's face was still hidden, Aeryn couldn't tell if there was any change of expression, but she had a strong suspicion as to the source of the second 'whisper.' //Well, at least I'm not paying my trade goods to a complete fraud...//

>location, status?<

>>reluctance<<  
>>ours<<  
>>*here*<<

The last was far more... *concentrated* than just a word; Aeryn guessed there was a lot of information in that 'here' which she hadn't caught. //Such as where 'here' is, I assume.// It was enough to make her head hurt. When she looked up again, though, the Witch seemed to be looking at her.

"You have far more awareness than I would expect of a Sebacean, without other aids," the Witch said. "Have you had interpsychic experiences in the past?"

That was not a question Aeryn was prepared to answer at the moment. She really didn't know how to classify her experiences on Valldon, not that she wanted to think about them at all, and-- //Unity. It could be from the Unity.// Oh, Zhaan... "Maybe."

The Witch shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. "You will find the Nebari at the spaceport, on board a ship called the ~Dra'aka~. I would advise you to hurry, and be on your guard; the whisperers are reluctant to relinquish her."

That, Aeryn could easily believe. She paid the called-for amount of trading goods, and hurried out of the apartment and towards the spaceport, trying to decide how to go about getting Chiana off that ship.

//And then, I have to help John.//

# # # # #

John wasn't as surprised as he might have been to see people apparently living in the giant fluorescent mushrooms. For Asfod'l, it was actually pretty tame. Not that he was trying to issue a challenge or anything. Some of the people did look pretty strange to his eyes, but for all he knew they might be normal for this region of space.

"So, Choragos," John said as a tentacle-headed thing carrying what looked eerily like a basket of groceries ambled past, "are any of these people likely to turn us in?"

Choragos mumbled something, but John couldn't understand it. He turned to see Harvey lagging a couple of meters back and Choragos a couple meters behind him. "You two wanna keep up? And no whinin', Harvey!" If John was making this speed despite his injuries, they frelling well ought to be able to manage it, too. John waited until they were more or less even with him, neither looking particularly happy about it, before posing his question again. "Are these people likely to turn us in?"

"Unlikely," said Choragos. "They are not... overinterested in... affairs which do not directly affect them."

"No civic feeling huh?" John muttered. "Never mind. Still no idea where we are?"

The silence was enough of an answer to *that*.

# # # # #

The ~Dra'aka~ was a very... furtive sort of ship, Aeryn thought. No doubt it was concerned mostly with smuggling, probably largely various of Asfod'l's stranger drugs. Whatever the case, she doubted its crew would be very pleased by the arrival of a Sebacean in Elite field fatigues. She made sure her pulse pistol was close at hand before marching up and banging on the hatch. No response. She tried again, and yelled, "Chiana!" for good measure.

The hatch opened a crack and a surly-looking alien of some kind peered out at her. "What do you want?" it growled.

"I'm looking for a Nebari girl," Aeryn said. "I'm told she's on board."

The crack widened. "Who told you?"

"A local. Called the Witch."

>>go<<  
>>she should go<<  
>>make her go<<

//Frell, there they are again!// Aeryn could not *wait* to get off this *miserable* moon.

The alien's scowl deepened. "Can't trust those locals. Our passengers are our own business."

>>make her go away<<

"Go--"

Aeryn interrupted before he could finish. //Try a different tactic--// "If you don't trust the locals, you might be interested in hearing that the Nebari girl has probably been -- taken by the... Whisperers."

>>don't listen<<  
>>make her go away<<

But this time the alien jerked, swiping a hand past his ear in a gesture only too familiar from the days of John's struggle with the neurochip. "Lidssk!" he yelled. "Get that Nebari out here!"

>>don't listen<<  
>>don't listen<<

"She's -- frell -- she's frelling *infected*!" the alien finished.

Aeryn couldn't hear much of what was going on inside the ship, and she could see even less, but she heard what sounded like noisy cursing, then a yell from Chiana. Good.

>>don't listen<<  
>>stop<<  
>>indignation<<  
>>release us<<

The hatch opened wide. Aeryn, alerted by the sounds of a struggle, managed to step back in time not to be knocked over by Chiana as she was quite forcefully thrown from the ship to land in a rubbish heap. Aeryn winced. The hatch slammed shut.

Chiana shook her head dizzily. "Hey! What was that--" She broke off. "Aer--"

"Avoiding real names, remember?" Aeryn said. Never mind that she'd just yelled Chiana's a few microts ago. "What did you think you were *doing*?"

"Well -- I was--" Chiana trailed off. "Meelak... I needed to find Nerri..."

Aeryn helped Chiana to her feet, but didn't let go of her arm once the Nebari was steady again. "The vision wasn't real," she said softly. "You were manipulated by these... things, interpsychic protozoa, Whisperers. They seem to be everywhere here. Whatever has you also did something to Crichton."

Chiana still looked confused. "But--"

>>don't listen<<  
>>find another ship<<

"Did you hear that?" Aeryn asked. She wasn't really expecting that Chiana would -- she hadn't seemed to notice the whispers earlier, when both Aeryn and Crichton had been unsettled -- but to her surprise Chiana frowned, looking up.

"There was... something..." Chiana blinked a few times, and shook her head. "What is going *on* here? What did you say about Crichton?"

Aeryn relaxed slightly -- but kept a grip on Chiana's arm, just in case. "Come on. I need to pay someone -- I'll explain on the way."

>>should leave now<<  
>>other is still here<<  
>>frustration<<

Nice to hear she wasn't the only one getting frustrated.

# # # # #

The giant fluorescent mushrooms gave way quite abruptly to a gaping chasm. There were many... islands of rock out in the chasm, and on each was a... John searched for the word, and briefly came up with 'picnic shelter' before hitting on 'pavilion.' Each pillar rising out of the chasm was crowned with a pavilion, each pavilion festooned with colored lanterns. The pavilions were linked together by a complicated network of bridges. Some of the rope bridges, in particular, looked kind of precarious, especially those between two pavilions of differing elevations.

"O-kay," John said, eying the first bridge. "Maybe we should think about changin' direction." He moved carefully to the edge of the chasm and looked down. He could see lots of colored lights that presumably meant more pavilions, but not a bottom. //Frell, given the way things have been going here there might not *be* a bottom.// He backed away from the drop.

>>alarm<<  
>>panic<<  
>>panic<<

"Oh, for -- Choragos!"

"It... might be advisable to... seek shelter," Choragos informed him. "We believe the enforcer... is returning."

"Oh, *terrific*," John snarled, and looked around. "And I suppose you think the best shelter is down in this damned pit."

"Sufficiently far down," Choragos corrected.

"You're a lot of help." John looked over his shoulder -- still no sign of the 'enforcer' as far as he could tell. //Could the Chorus be trying to trick me into something else?// But what? And did he really want to take the chance Choragos was telling the truth?

"Don't forget, John, they couldn't sense the enforcer coming before," Harvey said. "I'm not sure if I trust this. And have you noticed the... Chorus seems to be quieter now? Almost as if they're *hiding* something."

//I'm agreeing with Harvey. That's never good.// "Well--"

"Now we are... alert for it," Choragos retorted. "And we are... quiet to avoid its notice. It will not distinguish between you and us. We must seek shelter at once."

"An' how am I supposed to make it down those bridges with a broken arm?"

"Is it still... broken?" Choragos asked. "You seem... recovered."

He *did* feel better -- a lot better than he should have, a few hours after a broken arm with no painkillers. //And now I'm agreeing with Choragos.// "Um..." It took a little maneuvering to get the jacket-sling off, but when he did, his arm responded normally. "Huh. Yeah." At least now he could put his jacket on again.

"Recovered," Choragos repeated. "We must seek shelter at once."

John narrowed his eyes. "If you're so worried about it, why don't *you* seek shelter? Or -- *can* you not?"

Choragos stared at him for a moment -- still no 'thinking about it' expression -- before speaking. "Those who are... connected, materially... are here connected also."

"I could have told you that, John," Harvey put in. "The distances we spread out earlier are about as far as we can go." He scowled. "I'm not very happy about that, either."

"Well, bein' tethered to you two isn't exactly on my list of fun ways to--" John stopped, thinking. He'd been *annoyed* when Harvey and Choragos had been lagging, but he hadn't felt any kind of pull. "Hey, am *I* the one who gets to decide where we all go?"

>>irritation<<  
>>alarm<<  
>>explain<<  
>>urgency<<  
>>must move<<

"Yes," Choragos said. "We must seek shelter."

John hesitated. It still seemed entirely possible that the Chorus was trying to play him, and just acting alarmed, but -- he remembered that 'enforcer.' "All right," he said reluctantly. "But if you're lyin', Choragos... Come on, let's seek the abyssal picnic shelters."

# # # #

~xi~

//At this rate, I'm not going to be able to go near any Elite outpost, anywhere,// Tacer thought, steering the transport towards the lights of Center Prime. //Of course, Kevel didn't actually order me *not* to take the transport and go to Center Prime, just not to interfere in his conversation with Records.// And it wasn't as if he'd been planning on staying on Asfod'l any longer than he absolutely had to. //This place is so weird...//

He landed just outside the city, climbed out, and found the controls to seal the canopy. Now, where to find everyone? Well, asking about Jool should be harmless...

As he entered the outskirts of the city, Tacer hailed the first passerby he saw. "Excuse me, have you see an Interion around lately?"

Apparently Elite weren't too popular in Center Prime; the man ignored him completely and kept going. //Not that Elite are very popular most places.// Tacer sighed and looked for someone else. "Hey, I'm looking for an Interion... Hello?"

After the third person brushed him off without so much as -- as a brush-off, Tacer began to wonder if maybe he shouldn't have taken those 'complicated preparations' a little more seriously. His concerns deepened when he spotted the person having a heated conversation with an empty bit of roadway. //But I don't see why being interpsychic should make them blind and deaf!//

He decided against approaching the person with the monologue argument when a knife was pulled, but another talking-to-nothing person was close at hand. Tacer strolled over. "Hello?" he tried. No response. "HELLO!" he screamed. Still nothing. Tacer tried waving his hand in front of the man's face -- not so much as a blink, and he had to step out of the way as the man continued forward. "Appeal to reflexes, maybe?" Tacer wondered aloud. "Worth a try--" Extending a finger, he drove it towards the man's eye, stopping less than a handspan away.

*That* got a response; the man blinked and jerked his head back, then waved a hand irritably in front of his face. "I don't know," he told his invisible companion. "Must have seen something material."

"Yes, he's standing right in front of you," Tacer muttered. This time, he didn't move, and the man did indeed walk right into him.

"Now what's--" the man said, reaching up. He grabbed Tacer's shoulder, blinked several times, then squinted. "I think it's a toolie!" he said, sounding intrigued. "I didn't think they were *that* hard to see!"

Tacer sighed. "HAVE YOU SEEN AN INTERION?!" he yelled.

The local squinted again. "I -- can't -- understand -- you," he enunciated. "Go -- to -- the -- supply -- depot. Depot. Do -- you -- understand -- me?"

"No -- I -- have -- cranial -- damage," Tacer enunciated back, "and communicate only in ancient Ashkren pictographs." Leaving the local to his one-sided conversation, Tacer set out to find the depot. "This place is so strange."

# # # # #

Three people was a very tight fit in the Witch's room, but Chiana was not leaving Aeryn's sight. As Aeryn counted out the agreed-upon trade goods, the Witch seemed to be examining Chiana. "You... associate... with the Elite?" the Witch asked at last.

Aeryn would have thought that was rather obvious from the uniforms. "Why do you ask?"

The Witch indicated Chiana. "She has a very impressive... collection. The Elite have drugs which will cleanse that out without difficulty."

>>no!<<  
>>ours!<<

"No," said Chiana, then frowned. "They really are messing with me, aren't they."

"Yes," Aeryn told her. "We'll have to do that, then," she said to the Witch.

>>no<<  
>>panic<<

Determinedly ignoring the whispers, Aeryn went on. "What about... someone who is unresponsive? Would the Elite treatments help that?"

The Witch held up a hand. "Unresponsive, and you believe the Whisperers are involved?"

"Yes."

>>no<<  
>>no<<

>quiet<

"No, they would *not* help," the Witch said forcefully. "If someone has -- gone elsewhere, flushing the Whisperers from their body would only make it impossible for them to return. The drugs should *never* be administered to an unconscious patient."

"Oh." Frell. So much for that plan. "Well, do you have any suggestions about how to deal with such a case?"

"The person must be retrieved," the Witch replied. "By interpsychic means."

//And how am I supposed to do that, precisely?// "Well, how--"

The Witch stopped her with an upraised hand. "Wait. Listen."

Aeryn paused. She could hear city noises, the rumble of a ship taking off, some erratic drumbeats, and...

"...I said an *Interion*!"

...some distant and very familiar yelling. Tacer had evidently gotten tired of waiting for them. She couldn't blame him. Why was he yelling, though? "I need to check on something," she told the Witch. "Chiana, wait -- no." That was not a good plan. "Chiana, come with me. We'll be right back." Grabbing the Nebari's arm, Aeryn towed her out of the room.

Outside, it was hard to tell where the yelling was coming from. Acting on a hunch, Aeryn headed for the supply depot, ignoring Chiana's complaints. Sure enough...

"I'm right *here*, you frelling *idiot*!" Tacer flung his hands in the air. "So much for Tanjans..."

Aeryn quickened her steps. "Tacer!" she called.

"Where?" said Chiana.

Tacer turned, looking relieved. "There you are!" he said. "I'm glad *you* can see me. Is everything okay? When you didn't come back I got worried, and then Jool disappeared..."

"She's all right," Aeryn told him. "I left her at the hostel. How did--"

"Who are you talking to?" Chiana interrupted. "Tacer? I don't see him."

Tacer groaned. "Not her, too?"

"Not here," Aeryn told both of them. This did not look like something that would be sorted out quickly. "Come on."

Back at the Witch's room, now even more ridiculously crowded, Aeryn turned to Chiana. "You really can't see Tacer? He's right there."

Chiana squinted. "I still don't see anything."

>>*is* nothing there<<  
>>do not remove<<  
>>ours<<

"An Elite," the Witch said, with evident interest. "From offworld."

"Rezmarev creche," Tacer replied. "You can see me?"

"Indeed." The Witch reached for the tea again. "It would hardly be practical otherwise."

Tacer tilted his head in consideration. "You... you're a Generated, aren't you. One of the specialties."

"I thought you said Elite were interpsychically blind?" Aeryn interjected. Which, come to think of it, probably explained why Tacer was invisible and inaudible to a population used to using their minds as much as their normal senses.

>>tools<<  
>>nothing<<

"Elite are," Tacer replied, eyes on the Witch. "Some Generated aren't. Infiltrator?"

Fascinating, but useless as far as she was concerned. "About someone unresponsive--"

The ensuing conversation was extremely frustrating. Tacer kept naming various 'specialties,' all of which the Witch ignored. The Witch's servant returned and tried to serve tea to Aeryn and Chiana, but not the invisible Tacer; Chiana drank the tea before Aeryn could stop her. The whisperers kept up a steady series of unhelpful remarks, half of which Chiana answered. Chiana couldn't see Tacer, Tacer couldn't hear the whisperers, and Aeryn couldn't get anyone to return to the subject of John.

Finally, Aeryn temporarily silenced both Chiana and Tacer by pushing the former into the latter--it didn't take much of a push, in the tiny room--which left Chiana trying to figure out what she was sitting on and Tacer trying not to upset the Witch's tea. "About someone unresponsive," she said again. "How do I get them back?"

"You must find them interpsychically," the Witch replied, unperturbed. "Seek them, and return them to their body. Then the Elite drugs may be administered."

>>no<<  
>>ours<<

"Am I sitting on Tacer?" Chiana asked suddenly.

"No, an Elite-shaped chair!"

"*How* do I find them interpsychically?" Aeryn asked, gesturing sharply at Chiana and Tacer to stay quiet.

The Witch regarded her for a moment. "You are not innately gifted. If you know the person well, you may still be able to find them if you take the correct augmentation."

Aeryn's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by augmentation?"

"There are formulas which augment interpsychic abilities," the Witch said evenly, ignoring the minor commotion that erupted when Chiana managed to accidentally poke Tacer in the eye. "The high quality varieties are not contaminated with whisperers."

>>not contamination<<  
>>distaste<<

Aeryn sighed. She didn't much care for this option, but it was the best one she had. "How much for this... augmentation?"

# # # #

~xii~

They went back to the hostel first, for all sorts of reasons. Aeryn wanted to check on John, and Jool shouldn't be left on her own for too long, and she really wanted out of the Witch's room. In the hostel, Jool, Chiana, and Tacer could all keep an eye on each other. At least, she hoped it would work that way.

The box of powder she had purchased seemed absurdly heavy. //It had better work.//

When Aeryn opened the door to the hostel room, Jool almost shot her with the needle gun. "Jool! It's us."

"Well, you might have said something!"

"I just did." Aeryn got out of the doorway to let Chiana and Tacer into the room, and went over to John. He lay exactly as he had been when she'd left. "Has there been any change?"

"No, none. You found Chiana! And what's Tacer doing here?"

"Looking for you, among other things," the Elite replied. "Why the frell did you run off without telling me?"

"I couldn't *find* you! And I *needed* to tell the others--"

Aeryn ignored the ensuing argument, just checking to make sure someone had closed the door. Whenever she tried to break up one of these arguments, she always just ended up wanting to bang their heads together. A few days out from Bastarrex she actually *had*, but that hadn't worked very well. It was probably only a matter of a very little time before it was replaced by another round of 'invisible Tacer,' anyway, not that that was an improvement.

"Well, it seems Chiana can't *see* me, thanks to these mysterious--"

Just as predicted. She hated seeing John like this. The longer she looked at him, the more... empty... he seemed. It reminded her horribly of-- No. She wasn't thinking about that. "How is he? Physically?"

In the middle of peering into the eyes of a protesting Chiana, Jool looked over her shoulder. "No change, as I *said*. He seems physically unhurt."

Aeryn nodded acknowledgment, pulling out the box and turning it over in her hand. Where had he gone? How was she going to find him, even *with* the 'augmentation'? And since when did she stand around agonizing when there was a clear road to try?

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the others. "Jool, is there water here? Or -- no, never mind." It was probably safer to use water from her own canteen, anyway. "I'm going to need the three of you to stay here and keep watch. I'm going after John."

For a moment this was greeted with silence. Naturally, it didn't last.

"What do you mean, going after him?" Jool asked.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? The Witch didn't give you any instructions--"

"What is *in* that box?" Chiana looked fascinated. Clearly she had not been paying attention earlier, but given that she was probably infested with interpsychic protozoa, Aeryn had to forgive her more-erratic-than-usual behavior.

"Augmentation," Aeryn replied grimly. "It should let me find Crichton interpsychically -- follow him. But I'll be vulnerable while I'm doing it, so--"

"You -- you're *following him*?" Jool's voice rose piercingly. "You can't do that! What if you don't come back either?"

"I am going to come back," Aeryn said. "And I am going to bring Crichton back. And then we are going back to the Elite base and getting off this *rock*."

Chiana nodded vigorously. "*That* is a good idea."

"Although it will mean talking to Kevel again."

>>yes<<  
>>leave<<

//Although not without getting some of those Elite drugs for Chiana.//

>>no!<<

Ignoring the complaints from Chiana's... passengers... and Tacer's monologue about his knack for alienating superior officers, Aeryn occupied herself finding a container in which to mix up the powder with some water. The Witch had recommended dissolving half the powder in ten rillets of water -- she had to estimate the volume, but guessed it didn't need to be exact. The resulting mixture was a cloudy light blue and smelled like the swamp.

>>distaste<<

John would probably agree with the Whisperers on that count, and she had to admit she found it off-putting, too. It was probably best not to wonder how the powder was produced.

There was no point in delaying any longer; she downed the mixture in a few swallows, ignoring another protest from Jool. The mixture didn't have much taste to it, but it left her mouth feeling gritty, so she washed it down with water. That done, Aeryn turned to the other three, who were all watching her as if she might spontaneously combust. "All right. First, stay here, all three of you. Jool, Tacer, keep Chiana from leaving, she's still being influenced. And be careful."

Jool huffed. "I cannot believe you just said that, after blithely drinking that -- *stuff*--"

Aeryn rolled her eyes, then abruptly found herself sitting on the edge of the bed as the light in the room -- shifted. Everything acquired a painfully sharp yellow-white hue, brightest around Chiana, Jool, and herself. Tacer was barely there at all. She could still *see* him, though-- //But then, I know he's there...//

"Aeryn?"

>Aeryn? She doesn't look very good<

>Not *another* one<

>>listen to us *now*<<  
>>unlikely<<

"Aeryn!"

"I'm -- all right," she managed. "Just stop -- thinking so loudly."

"Thinking?"

John was a dark shadow on the bed behind her, but she could see a -- trace, a trail, a hint -- he was out there, somewhere. If she could just *find* him--

>Yes, it's another one! both of them! completely mad!<

"I guess it worked, then...?"

She barely heard Tacer's question as she followed the trail away -- out, beyond, into the darkness.

//John...//

# # # # #

>John...<

"Aeryn!" John snapped out of his contemplation of how to give the abyssal picnic shelter an abyssal grill and abyssal "Board of Parks" garbage can and looked around. He *had* heard her, he was sure of it. "Did you hear...?"

>>irritation<<

"I didn't hear anything, John," Harvey said. "Somehow I doubt Officer Sun is anywhere near our current location." The neural clone looked dourly around the picnic shelter and into the blackness -- the blankness -- beyond. The shelter itself was empty but for a picnic table John had laboriously conjured up when they first arrived, testing whether his recovery included the ability to mess with the scenery and props. "Fortunately for her."

//Yes, but I don't want her to be trapped here, I want her to come save my butt, just like always.// Assuming she was in a position to do so... He looked over at Choragos, who stood woodenly at the edge of the shelter. "You and your friends didn't do anythin' to Aeryn, did you?"

"If you say yes, he'll become completely unreasonable," Harvey warned.

"Do you really want to be bringin' that up, Harvey?" John paused. "I didn't think so. Choragos?"

"We have caused no harm to that one," Choragos said.

"You better not have." John looked up, but couldn't see anything outside the pit. "Aeryn!" he yelled.

>>no<<  
>>no<<

"Do not!" Choragos said. "You might... attract the enforcer."

"Of course I might." He stared up. No stars, no nothing. "How likely is it to hear just me, alone?"

>>consideration<<  
>>unlikely<<  
>>irrelevant!<<

"What was that?" The Chorus *was* hiding something! "Unlikely? That it's irrelevant that it's unlikely? What's that supposed to mean?"

Choragos was silent for a few long moments. "We must not... take chances. It is unlikely the enforcer will perceive, but the consequences if it should are severe. It is not safe, to... attract attention."

//Playing it safe versus locating Aeryn. That's a tough one.// "Aeryn!" he called again.

>>will find<<  
>>will lose<<

"Do not!" Choragos said sharply.

"Oh, stuff it up your toga. Aeryn!"

>John? Where are you?<

There she was. Well, sort of. "I'm--"

>>no!<<

*Something* knocked him backwards, onto the floor, and pinned him there. Choragos was still imitating a cardboard cutout, but it was a pretty safe bet the Chorus was involved. "Dammit, Choragos! What are you up to now?"

>>contain<<  
>>distract<<

The picnic shelter twisted and rippled around him--

\--and he was in the Aurora Chair, screaming.

"Segment his mind. As many layers as it takes."

"No. No, please--"

//No. This isn't real.// He had to keep from panicking. He was on Asfod'l, in the abyssal picnic shelter, and this was another trick from the Chorus. It didn't *really* hurt, Scorpius wasn't really there, and he had to tell Aeryn where he was, she was looking for him--

>>must contain!<<  
>>suppress<<

"No!" John yelled. *Enough* already with the mind-frells! This was *not* real, he did *not* have to be here--

And he was back on Asfod'l, or wherever, trying without success to get to his feet. Choragos had disappeared. Apparently the Chorus had given up on being polite. "Aeryn, I'm--"

>>suppress!<<  
>>attempting!<<

"--*here.* I'm here, Aeryn." Each breath was difficult, although he wasn't sure he needed to breathe. The world twisted again, and he braced himself as the picnic shelter gave way to--

\--the dark latticework of the Shadow Depository, as Natira's head-claw-things neared his eyes--

"This--"

\--the corridors of Kaarvok's Leviathan, as he ran desperately from something unseen--

"--is not--"

\--the hospital, his mother reaching towards him. "Stay with me, John..."

"--real! *Frell* you!" Not quite sure how he was doing it, he grabbed some of that red-hot anger and *threw* it at the Chorus.

>>pain<<  
>>surprise<<

The picnic shelter was back. "I hope you do hurt, you bastards," John muttered. His mom was *off-limits*. Scrambling awkwardly to his feet, he looked around. No Choragos. Also no Harvey. //Now where did *he* go?// Time to worry about that later. Hopefully. "Aeryn!"

>I'm coming, John. Stay right there. Are you all right?<

"Yeah, fine. Just some stuff that's not real--"

>>was real<<  
>>is real<<  
>>will be real<<

"Oh, shut up."

>>send it away<<  
>>send her away<<

This seemed a bit of a reach even for the Chorus. "Just go away, will you? Or keep it down for a while. I'll decide what to do next after Aeryn gets here."

The scenery jolted again--and he was in his module, over the ice planet, watching helplessly as Aeryn fell towards the frozen lake. //Oh, god. Not this.//

>>send her away<<  
>>it is not safe<<  
>>you will cause harm to her<<  
>>again<<

//No, I am *not* going to fall for this!// The Chorus was really frelling obvious. If they couldn't get into people's heads, they'd never fool anyone. //And now that we're *all* in my head, they've lost their advantage.// Well, technically, all out of his head... "This isn't real!"

>>could be<<  
>>this<<  
>>use this<<  
>>distract<<  
>>and also<<

He was standing on Moya, watching Aeryn walk towards him from the transport pod, her face set.

>>does not love you<<  
>>loves *him*<<  
>>substitute<<

"I am not *frelling* fallin' for that!" he yelled. "How can you expect me to believe anything you say? *Aeryn*!"

>>still use<<  
>>other one<<

# # # #

~xiii~

Aeryn ran through a twisted, bizarre, brightly colored landscape that seemed to bear little resemblance to the Center Prime she'd seen before. Obviously an effect of the "augmentation" -- although how you could have an interpsychic *building* she really didn't understand.

>Aeryn!<

"I'm coming!" she yelled.

John was here, somewhere, and in need of assistance. Even beyond the problem of getting him back in his body, he seemed to be in trouble of some other sort, judging from how he kept breaking off. Frelling Whisperers. Or whatever *else* was loose on Asfod'l.

She stopped as she drew even with the Speaker's Hall, which looked small and drab and almost invisible between a giant green dome and a shiny blue building bristling with spikes. John's "voice" came from somewhere beyond it. He must be somewhere out in the swamp. Or at least, she was pretty sure the swamp wasn't far past the Speaker's Hall. She'd gone from the Speaker's Hall straight into the swamp, anyway. She thought. She'd been a long ways into the swamp when she'd broken out of it, and she hadn't been walking *that* fast.

When she skirted the green dome, though, there was only more city on the other side. Well, whatever. She wasn't here physically, anyway.

And she'd decided not to think too hard about that part. But she was keeping careful track of landmarks, to find her way back.

On closer examination, she rather thought the swamp had started, after all. The interpsychic trappings just didn't reflect that. But instead of the baffling variety of buildings back in the city proper, the things here came in... blocks. Fields. As if someone had planted a field of stone cones with people living in them.

She made her way among the stone cones, over a low glassy wall, and under a building on stilts. All the people she saw gave her a wide berth. Aeryn looked down at herself to see her customary black leather pants and long duster. Maybe they thought she was a Peacekeeper. //On Asfod'l?// It really didn't matter, just so long as none of them interfered. After the stilt building, she skirted around a tall pallisade, then had to clamber up and down a series of low but steep ridges. Now, which way...?

>Aeryn, I'm *here* -- oh, cut it out!<

Right. *That* way.

She was approaching an area which was possibly the strangest yet -- large blobby dwellings in eye-hurting colors -- when she heard a... whisper, and--

"Hey, babe."

\--there he was, looking just as she'd last seen him on Valldon.

//Oh, John.// He seemed real.

"Weird place, isn't it? I'm glad I found you. It's been lonely, out there on my own." He smiled. "Miss me?"

"Yes, John. I missed you." //More than you could imagine.// Except that wasn't true, was it. He knew what it felt like -- which was why he ought to have known better than to *die*, frell him...

She met him midway, as far as she could tell in the suddenly indistinct landscape, and he bent his head to hers. "Aeryn, what's wrong?" he asked.

//You're not real. And I'm not sure you even know it.// "We have to help the other Crichton," she told him, and tried to force the landscape back to the eye-hurting blobs.

He made a face. "The clone? Aw--"

Aeryn rolled her eyes. She'd almost forgotten how ridiculous Crichton -- both Crichtons -- had been. "He's having some problems with mind-frelling parasites."

"Oh." He sighed. "Can't very well leave even him to *that*."

>>no!<<  
>>not supposed<<  
>>distract<<  
>>not *help*<<

"That them?" he asked -- the *phantom* asked. Aeryn nodded.

"Do you think you can hold them off?"

"Sure, no problem." He turned away, crossing his arms. "All right, Parasite Central, you wanna get at her, you go through me."

The Whispers dropped in volume, as if behind a wall. Aeryn nodded to herself, and started running. The phantom John didn't seem to be moving, but all the same he stayed with her, a motra or two away, on guard.

>>not supposed!<<  
>>change<<  
>>memory<<  
>>too strong<<

She shot a quick glance at phantom-Crichton, wondering if he heard the whispers, but he seemed oblivious.

>>dismiss<<  
>>DISMISS!<<

And he was gone, as suddenly as he'd appeared.

Aeryn closed her eyes for a moment. It hurt, but... not as much as she might have expected. //Only a memory.// And she still had work to do.

"John!" she shouted again. "Where are you?"

>This way-- Cut it out, I said! I'm *here*--<

The world rippled again, and she was standing at the edge of a crevasse. Pillars of rock rose out of the depthless gloom. "John!"

>Yes! Here!< And then, "Aeryn!"

She supposed she wasn't really hearing it any more than she'd been hearing anything else, but it felt closer. Eyes narrowed, she looked over the visible pillars. They all had rudimentary shelters, but most seemed deserted... *There.* She chose the correct suspension bridge and started across as quickly as she dared.

>>must stop<<  
>>alter route<<  
>>negative!<<  
>>draw attention!<<

//Better hurry.// Running on such a flimsy structure did not seem like a very good idea, but--

By the time she made it to the pillar, the run was not as controlled as she would have liked. In fact, she crashed into John, and they ended up sprawled on the ground in a tangle.

>>dismay!<<

"Glad you could make it," John said breathlessly. "God, this planet is insane. You know how to get out of here?"

"More or less," Aeryn replied, into John's neck. She pushed herself up, and looked around. "What was attacked you?" John looked pale and sweaty, shocky, even.

"Frelling -- Chorus -- you can't see 'em, mostly. Harvey was here, but he seems to be lyin' low -- disappeared when Choragos did -- we need to get outa here."

>>stop them<<  
>>questioning<<  
>>method<<

Right. Aeryn rolled to her feet, offered John a hand up, then neglected to let go of him. No one else in sight, so-- "How have they been attacking you?"

"Mental. Flashbacks." John glanced around. "Probably preparing the next barrage... should we just run?"

"Yes. No." She paused. "At least out of this -- pit."

"Gotcha."

They ran.

# # # # #

The Chorus was still carrying on in the back of his head, and the landscape shimmered and twisted around him, but Aeryn's grip on his hand was firm, and that was enough.

# # # # #

Tacer was about ready to see if Chiana noticed him slugging her when Crichton and Aeryn woke up. They both *shot* upright, practically levitating off the bed, and frightening Jool, who squeaked and fell over backwards. "You did it!" Tacer said, but everyone ignored him.

"You're back!" Chiana said.

"Yeah... oh, dren, cramp," Crichton said, and doubled over. Aeryn put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"We need to get back to the Elite base," she said. "Tacer, how did you get here?" She wasn't quite looking at him, though.

"Borrowed a vehicle. Would you like me to go get it?" When she didn't answer, he poked Jool. "Repeat that."

She huffed, but obediently said, "He says he borrowed a vehicle and should he go get it. I bet he 'borrowed it'--"

"Yes, please," Aeryn said. She still wasn't letting go of Crichton. "We'll get packed up and meet you outside in a few hundred microts."

Crichton batted at the air beside his head. "Tell him to hurry."

"This is getting old," Tacer announced, to Jool and the ceiling. "I'll go as fast as I can. The sooner you're all un-augmented, the better."

He stopped in the doorway, though, to look back and see them kissing.

# # # #

~xiv~

According to the medics on the Elite base, it would take about a standard solar day for the "biological hazard" to be completely cleared from John and Chiana. Aeryn, Jool, and Tacer were clean. They'd all been tested, even Tacer, whose overpowered Elite immune system was apparently expected to get rid of any foreign parasites in short order. As soon as Tacer tested clean, he was hauled off by Kevel to "talk".

John estimated that under five minutes passed between his initial anti-protozoa injection and the point when the Chorus -- which had rumbled mutinously the whole way back -- fell silent. "Um, they're gone."

Records, Jool's new Ashkren friend, nodded. (The Ashkren were a lot shorter than he'd expected -- Records was barely four feet tall. He supposed it made sense they'd be shorter than their super-soldiers.) "The treatment kills the protozoa, or forces them into dormancy, very quickly. It takes longer to clean the system of all spores."

"Ah-huh." Spores. Ick.

He wondered if he should be more disturbed by casually exterminating what were clearly sentient beings. They were just following their nature. But-- No. //My head is not zoned for multiple occupancy.// To say nothing of unleashing the little bugs on the rest of the galaxy. Well, no point worrying about it now.

Glancing over at where Aeryn sat on another bed, John ventured, "So, what's the weirdest thing you saw?"

Aeryn hesitated, then shook her head. "Maybe later. I'm getting a headache from the augmentation wearing off." But she smiled at him.

"Fair enough."

They'd kissed, back at the hostel, despite both Jool and Chiana being right there goggling at them. It had felt... right. It really made him wish the ~Sharp Stick~ had multiple bedrooms.

Well, maybe they could kick the other three up into the cockpit. As soon as they got off this miserable planet. Moon. Whatever.

They were still sitting around when a junior medic -- identifiable as such by the lighter purple circles around the eyes -- hurried in from some side lab and ran over to Aeryn. "Officer Sun? I have to ask you to do some more tests. I've looked over you're scans and you seem to have some sort of abdominal parasite." He waved a few flimsy sheets.

John stiffened. //Oh, God.// She had to be okay. She had to.

"I've never seen anything like it," the medic continued, far too cheerfully. "I didn't see it at first because it has some of your genetic code, but the rest of its genetic code isn't in the database. And it's in some sort of stasis field--"

Aeryn was starting to frown, but it was Jool who snatched the flimsies away from the medic. She took one look at them, and tossed them down on the bed. "You idiot Elite, that's not a parasite, that's an embryo."

The Elite stared. "In her *abdomen*? Ew."

The ensuing argument lasted until the senior medic came over to break it up, but John was in too much shock to pay attention.

//Pregnant. She's pregnant. And it's mine -- his -- *mine*-- Or-- wait--// What the frell kind of gestation period did Sebaceans have anyway?

"It's a stasis pregnancy," Aeryn said quietly, almost in his ear, and he jumped.

"What?"

"Combat troops are implanted with a device which will capture any fertilized egg in stasis, for up to seven years," she said, softly. "Judging from the genetic results, it's--" She broke off.

"John Crichton's," John said firmly. "That's all that matters. Hell, that doesn't even matter--"

Aeryn smiled, but it looked a little strained. "I need to think about this -- it's a shock--"

"Yeah -- of course -- whatever you need." He took her hand. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

This time, her smile was more genuine, and she squeezed his hand back. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

# # # #

~epilogue~

Ship's Log, ~Sharp Stick~

We are now eighteen arns out from Asfod'l, and my skin is starting to regrow from where Kevel scorched it off. I didn't mean to deflate the tire. He should have warned me about the rocks. At least I'm no more unwelcome in Elite space than I already was... Still, good to get off that weird little moon. Unfortunately I am now stuck sharing the cockpit with Chiana and Jool, as Crichton and Aeryn have taken over the main compartment again. General consensus of the rest of the crew is that this time they are probably frelling. All that mind-to-mind interpsychic contact must have broken down some barriers. Chiana's innuendo output level is nearing saturation point, though I'm still not sure whether she is flirting with me, Jool, or me and Jool. It's starting to become un-ignorable.

So Aeryn is pregnant! Weird. I don't know why Peacekeepers do gestation the way they do. She didn't have the stasis released, so nothing is going to happen yet, which is good, because an infant on this little ship? Terrifying thought.

Incidentally we have the coolant and the raw materials for the synthesizer, so we're good to go in the hunt for their Leviathan. Still not much information on where to look, but we can run at full speed, now. I'm sure we'll find her. We may drive each other fahrbot first, but hey, who'd notice?

And Chiana has started playing with the keys on the copilot's console, so I'd better wrap this up.

Tacer Rezmarev


End file.
